#(her stuff is so much better than what i tried putting together for black swan recently)

[lwieserce]

this is 4pc wind set btw. I dont play about sparkle

[tartagilicious]

how the mlqc boys would react to the mc proposing first

@3m0t10nal-cr1s1s thank you so much for giving me this godly idea. also have I by chance told you guys how much of a simp I am for lucien?? because i am such a simp for lucien omfg

—

Victor:

- i’m weak for this concept

- naturally, he’d probably figure out what was happening beforehand, though I firmly believe it’d be by complete accident, not because the mc is incompetent in her endeavours or anything

- something importantly would mistakenly be sent to him, whether it be an email or a part of your “big plan” — but no matter what it is, the man’s not dumb. he’ll figure it out

- but don’t get me wrong! that won’t diminish the emotion he gets from the scenario at all.

-everyone is terrified how nice Victor is the day he finds out that she’s planning to propose, but I couldn’t see the mc putting two and two together with just that. his secret’s safe for now!

- when she does propose, it’s completely of her own initiative. victor usually takes her out? not this time. the mc is READY and is a woman on a mission. 

- she’s been ready for this for a long time. after going through so much together, both witnessing each other’s death (and/or near death) experiences, and growing together side by side, there’s no one she’d rather spend the rest of her life with.

- it’d be in a quiet restaurant that she’d been saving up to visit, and then would suggest they go back to souvenir for dessert. he would of course say yes, and there, when baking together, she would pop the question

- it would be casually, as if she were stating the weather, but it makes victor freeze right as he’s wrapping the pastry up in dough. he quietly scolds her for making him mess up while trying to hide his rapidly oncoming blush

- he just didn’t expect her to do it like that

- she would laugh. “did I catch you at the wrong time?”

- to that, he’d exasperatingly pull her into a hug. “is there a wrong timing for this type of thing? dummy.”

- he hugged her as he accepted just so she didn’t see his tears

Gavin:

- because of certain conversations in the past, Gavin was actually content with the possibility of waiting for you to propose first. 

- “whenever you’re ready, you can be my bride.” [gavin’s wedding date]

- yes sir

- and he certainly would keep to that promise. any mention of her wanting to get married, and for lack of better terms, this man would waste absolutely no time to cuff mc lol

- but he’s a patient man. especially for her. 

- Gavin never realised how long it had taken, though, and how much he wanted something more until she showed him the ring underneath the gingko trees at loveland high school one evening. they had come back for what the mc called ‘reminiscive purposes’, only for this to happen and for gavin to mentally kick himself for not realising her intentions sooner. 

- the wind stutters in that moment, flowing soft around them and saying everything that his clamped throat wouldn’t let him

- similarly to Victor, he’d be slightly embarrassed by his reaction, but wouldn’t try to hide it. he wants to be able to see that smile on her face for every second of this encounter

- he’d finally be able to look at her face unabashedly, appreciating every single freckle, line, and imperfection. because to him, she is perfect. 

- this boy is flustered, he’s calm at the same time. his cheeks are red as he smiles back at her, laughing as if he’s holding back tears before joking,

- “you beat me to it, ___.”

- he would give her the longest, tightest hug afterwards right there on the school grounds, not physically able to wipe the smile off his face.

- partly because he’s cradling the back her head with the hand that wears the ring 🥺

Lucien:

- aha, marriage. funny.

- that’s what he would have said before meeting her. back then, all he could think about was the fantasy of loving her, especially knowing that he probably would never be able to. we all want what we can’t have.

- except, for lucien, it was more of a desperate want. he was reminded of it every time he saw her, heard her voice, made her smile, etc etc

- and it was crushing that knowing that it would probably always be love at a distance.

- at least, it seemed that way until things seemed to turn around. she chose to stay with him and trust him even though he had betrayed her, and continued to do so until he had no choice but to fall into what he tried so hard to keep out of.

- lucien is irrevocably in love with the mc. that much became obvious to even her that night he told her everything by her bedside. of course, it wasn’t smooth sailing from there — black swan was still breathing down his neck, and the special task force made it no easier either. but she was finally his, and he thought that was all that mattered

- later into their relationship, he’d be enthralled to know that marriage is actually a possibility for the two of them. 

- when she proposes to him in her apartment one night, he’s quite literally brought to tears. 

- she’d be sitting in his lap, smiling as he plays with her hair as she quietly says, “you know, your engagement ring is in the drawer of my nightstand.”

- Lucien’s fingers would freeze where they are, and he would ask her to repeat herself

- she would do as he asks, and in that moment, the man would literally pick her up to sit straight and give her the most passionate but soft kiss 🥺 he’s a relatively easygoing guy most of the time when it comes to affection, so she’d probably be caught off guard, but ultimately would have no qualms.

- it’s just when tears hit her cheeks that definitely aren’t her own is when she’s surprised

- after a long conversation, he gets up and returns with the ring on his finger, smiling like a fool.

kiro: 

- by the time she’s thinking of getting married, Kiro is well into being a veteran idol

- after everything with BS and the special task force, things settled down considerably for two of them. his identity as helios was never identified to the public for obvious reasons, but he’s not completely gone if you know what I mean ;))

- skdjglsdkf BUT

- kiro is truly delighted when she asks him to marry her. like ready to bounce off the walls happy

- she doesn’t recall ever seeing him smile so brightly — and that’s definitely saying something. 

- mc would probably ask him on one of their vacations, probably at a tropical location. think somewhere like the Maldives.  

 - it’d be in a semi-private spot on the beach right after the sun sets. his skin is glowing with an invisible sheen of sweat that she only notices after he bear hugs her and falls back with her into the sand— asjdsjhgkhsdlfkgjjdsfhjk

-  kiro would kiss her so many times, sweetly on the cheeks, forehead, nose - anywhere on her face he can reach to show his gratitude. his response to her question is clear as day, just like her laughter that rings out in the humid air

- I should write this 

Shaw:

- lmao wtf is this girl doing??

- legitimately is speechless when she shows him the ring she picked out. not because he wants to decline, but because similar to Lucien, he never saw him getting this close to anyone. 

- plus, her proposing to him? confidence is a good look on her.

- the mc and shaw will have been dating for a while, mostly to build up the trust that he so severely lacks from his trauma. but little does she know, she has him in the palm of her hand almost the entire time. the boy is whipped for seemingly one of the first people that’s ever genuinely cared about him . 

- and truthfully, it doesn’t take him long to trust her. he wants to tell himself that it’s because mc is like a butterfly, and definitely not someone that would have bad intentions, but it’s way more than that and he knows it.

- she proposes to him after one of his stages. it’s a relatively big gig, and when he comes out to her afterwards all sweaty and smiles, she just immediately knows that she’s making the right decision. 

- she would have the ring stowed away in a zippered pocket in her handbag, idle for the spontaneous decisions shaw had given her the habit of making. it’s lucky she thought to put it there in the first place, but it worked out nonetheless.

- after he spends a few moments just stunned, he’ll probably joke with her. ask her if she’s asking the right guy and stuff, but would be at a loss for words when she hugs him. shaw is more of an affectionate person that you would think, and doesn’t hesitate to hug her back after letting out a small laugh

- he’ll stroke the top of her head and smile almost imperceptibly, saying,

- “I’ll agree to marry you, but only on the condition that you never leave. got it?”

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 2/3

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: No, you’re not crazy. The chapter count grew a little. My sincerest apologies guys (especially to @searchingwardrobes​.) I have a lot of stuff going on in my personal life that’s taken most of my attention. I really didn’t mean for this next part to be so delayed, and honestly, time has become an illusion at this point and I didn’t even realize that 6 weeks had passed. I was thinking closer to 3, so thank you for staying with me on this little journey, and hope you enjoy.

If AO3 is more your jam...

His jaw is killing him and he’s realized all too late that it was a mistake not taking the ice from Emma. But he couldn’t. He can’t have anything to do with her. He can’t even look at her. It’s just too damn painful in every way fathomable.

Sometimes, his heart aches to be near her, to see her smile and pretend for just a moment that it’s before. That everything is still fine and that they’re going to meet up for drinks later. To imagine that they’ll go back to one of their apartments and put on a movie. That she’ll fall asleep on his shoulder and he’ll move so that they’re spooning each other on the couch. It’s on those days he turns to the bottle.

Other days, the very thought of her sends him into a rage and it’s all he can do not to throw her desk out of the bullpen. He never should have agreed to take the Captain’s position. He should have gone back to the narcotics division, far away from her and the ghost of Liam imprinted into the very fabric of his chair.

He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

He shouldn’t have gone to the Salty Winch tonight. He knew that it was her birthday, try as hard as he might to forget. And he wasn’t planning on going. But something in his subconscious had him driving there against his own better judgement. He was just going to peer in through the window, just go get a look. To see if she was happy.

And now he’s got a bruise on his face, he’s down a detective, and he’s going to have to call a cab in the morning to take him back to the pub to pick up his car.

He’s also got a text message from Archie telling him he wants to see him tomorrow before lunch.

He goes to bed, but sleep doesn’t come until hours later.

The next morning is a disaster. There’s two empty desks instead of one, paper work is piling up. Everyone is tiptoeing around him and he can see them watching him out of the corner of his eye. He can hear their hushed whispers, and as much as he doesn’t want to have to schlep all the way down to headquarters, he needs the retreat from being the star of his own tragedy.

Archie’s office is on the third floor, and it isn’t lost on him how many offices he has to pass on the way to what should be a private visit. But then again, nothing about his life has been private lately. He knows that everyone still talks about it. For weeks his portrait graced the cover of every newspaper in town, sometimes next to Liam’s departmental photo. The news was there that night to film him being carried to the ambulance on a stretcher. His name was on the tip of everyone’s tongue as the investigation and trial drug on.

His detectives don’t trust him, and he knows it’s a problem, as well that he should care, but most days he just can’t find it within himself to give a damn. He buries it all as deeply within himself as possible, just going through the motions. He’s gotten pretty good at ignoring the ways he feels, most times, but Archie is going to want to drag it all up again, especially after last night.

The office has been redecorated since the last time he was there for his psych evaluation and mandated therapy to determine if he was capable of returning to work. There are more plants in every corner of the room. No doubt the cricket’s way of cheering everyone up while he chirps in their ears. Not that he has anything against Dr. Hopper. The man may very well be the only reason Killian is even still human at this point.

“Killian, thank you for coming. Why don’t you have a seat?” He doesn’t want to, the black leather is worn and cracked in places, pinching the back of his legs even through his thick cotton pants.

The man just watches him, waiting to see if he’ll open up, to make the first move, but Killian’s never been much for spilling his guts. He’s not sure talking would even help at this point. Everything has become so twisted that no emotional epiphanies can untangle his problems anymore.

“So, I think you know why I wanted to see you.”

“Aye.”

“My next appointment called in sick so I have all day to wait for you to say something.

Killian sighs, ready to give in to the inevitable, although he’s not completely sure which part of it Archie wants to get into, and he’s treading water trying to keep as much of his life off limits as possible.

“There’s nothing to say really. One of my detectives was drunk, mouthed off, and hit me. His suspension was well earned. I’m not sure there’s anything more to it.”

Archie watches him for a second, tilting his head as he listens to Killian, and before he even opens his mouth, he knows that the cricket chirping in his ear is about to dissect the evening.

“Killian, I think there’s a lot more to it. Clearly there’s been some resentment and animosity building between the two of you for some time more, or August wouldn’t have brought it up.”

He hates this, the way Dr. Hopper is always trying to poke his way through Killian’s brain, trying to unlock doors with a metaphorical paperclip. A one size fits all therapy tool that with enough finesse can open everything he’s trying to hold back.

“I’ll admit, there’s no love lost between the two of us. We’ve never gotten along, even before. But August has never been one to make smart well thought out choices and last night was just another in a long line of mistakes he’s made.”

“Long line, or tipping point?” This isn’t going to work. He isn’t going to let Archie trip him up. He’s not leaving anymore crumbs to follow. “I know you don’t want to discuss this again, but I can’t help but think all of this stems from your relationship with Emma.”

“I don’t have a relationship with Emma.” He doesn’t mean to spit out the words as harshly as he does, it’s just a gut reaction and it’s too late to play it off. “She’s my subordinate, that’s it.”

“You mean she was your subordinate.”

It pisses him off more than he expects, partly because somehow this man miles away already knows that Emma has transferred when he only found out himself a few hours before, but also because it brings up emotions he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Aye.” All he can do is nod and clinch his jaw, which in turn reminds him of the punch he took last night. He’d give almost anything for some Motrin right now. Better yet, some morphine so he can fall into a sleep where none of this is real.

He’s not really sure what’s happening. He knows he’s in the hospital. He can surmise as much by the beeping machines and the blood pressure cuff that’s about to sever his arm clean off. But his eyes are too heavy to open just now, and he doesn’t remember coming to the hospital. He can’t remember why he’s here.

Until he tries to move, twisting his torso just enough that pain shoots clear up to his eyeballs and he screams out in pain without even realizing it.

There’s a nurse in the room, telling him to relax, and he thinks he hears another voice from the other side of the room, but now his arm is cold and he doesn’t even have time to think before the world goes dark again.

His mouth is dry. He tries to open his lips, but they’ve melding together and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. His body feels so weak and heavy, and it’s a struggle to speak, but even with just a slight moan, he feels his hand squeezed and he knows it’s her just by the way she fits with him. The bed shifts and he hears something new in her voice. She’s timid, like maybe if she speaks too loudly he’ll blow away in the wind. And to be honest, at this point, he very well may.

He forces his eyes open, blinking as much as he can to clear his vision. She’s standing at his side in a Boston PD sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big - pilfered from his closet after a night off of bar hopping turned into a movie at his place - and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. It might very well be any other Saturday morning, except for her face. It’s puffy and red and she’s clearly been crying.

Emma Swan doesn’t cry. Ever.

He should be worried about himself, but in that moment, he can only think of her and how miserable she looks.

But then the blood pressure cuff goes off again, reminding him of where he is, and everything comes rushing back. The fight with Liam, the sound of shots ringing out, Emma begging him not to die. He told her he loved her, and he’s angry with himself for waiting so long. It shouldn’t have been a death bed confession. He shouldn’t have put so much stock in Liam’s approval.

Liam.

Liam.

Liam.

He barely gets his brother’s name out before he sees more tears running down her face, and she’s apologizing over and over again. There’s something about the way she says it, like it’s somehow her fault, like she was the one that fired the fatal shot. The pain returns and so does the morphine.

He wakes again, groggy and weak. His eyes are too heavy to open, but perhaps that’s better. Maybe if he can’t see the world around him, he won’t have to face everything to come. Liam’s always been there, even when everyone left, Liam stayed. He doesn’t know how to continue on in a world without him. He doesn’t know how to do anything now and all he can think about is how it should have been him. How he started the argument, he distracted Liam. How he was the one that raised his voice and alerted the killer to their presence.

He’s in the middle of his downward spiral of self loathing when he hears muffled voices come closer, likely entering his room from the hallway. They speak in hushed whispers as they move around the room, flittering about all around him, lifting his blanket and touching his feet, fumbling with his hand. He still can’t muster the strength to open his eyes, much less his mouth to tell them to leave, so they continue, completely unaware of the way he hears them. Unaware of how they are turning his life upside down.

“Why does this guy look so familiar?”

“Oh, you mean other than the fact that his face is all over the television?”

It’s silent for a bit, and he thinks that maybe they’ve gone finally, but then he hears a tapping noise, like fingers angrily hitting letters on a keyboard.

“It’s really sad actually. Remember Astrid down in the ER?” She waits for the other voice to agree before continuing. “I had lunch with her today and she was telling me how our guy here is cop. Came in with gunshot wounds, along with his brother. They were both in really bad shape. Whale was able to save this one but the brother was too far gone.”

It’s the first time he’s heard the words spoken allowed, and although intrinsically, he knew that Liam was gone, the words are a nail to a coffin.

The voice continues, telling the other one how they were both in shock, having lost so much blood, giving vivid details that tear at him to his very core, but it’s the end of the story that he latches to.

“So there’s nothing they could have done then?”

“I guess we’ll never know. I mean, by the time the ambulance brought him in, he was already gone, but from what Astrid overheard, I guess their back up got there late. One of them ran after the shooter and the other stayed to help and couldn’t save them both.”

“Damn, I can't even imagine. This guy is gonna have some hell of survivor's guilt.”

But it wasn’t guilt that overcame him that night. Instead, it was rage that crept in, filling the hole in his heart.

“So you still blame Emma then?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look up from the mark of the coffee table in front of him that he’s been starting at for the last few minutes.

“Killian, the mind is a tricky thing. You were still in shock, heavily medicated, and mourning. Is it possible that maybe you somehow misunderstood what the nurses said that night?”

That has his attention, and not in a good way.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a liar?” He leans forward, voice steady, focused on Dr. Hopper and the way he’s now squirming in his chair. “Or do you simply believe that I’m just crazy?”

He’s off the couch, steady quick strides for the door. He’s had enough judgment for the day, and needs to leave before he crams Archie’s notebook down his throat.

“That’s - Killian! That’s not what I meant.”

He’s halfway out the door, but something in the man’s tremble gives him pause.

“I- I just. I spoke to Emma, to August too, after it happened. I just mean that maybe you all have different accounts of what happened that night, and until you sit down and finally clear the air, none of you will be able to heal.”

That has him barking out a laugh. The very idea of either of them being able to make anything right at this point? It’s absurd.

Two weeks pass without much fanfare. August’s desk still sits empty, a magnet for other detective’s paperwork piles, but the seat stays cold. Emma’s desk on the other hand is now occupied by a short stodgy old bald man who seems to be compensating for his hair loss with a long salt and pepper beard that covers half of his face. The man has been nothing but surely since his arrival the week before. He’s managed to piss off most of Killian’s bullpen, and it’s almost laughable how quickly his life has gone totally shits-up on him, but then he remembers that Leroy is going to be August’s partner when he comes back and that’s almost enough to satiate Killian’s frustration.

Almost.

Because August isn’t coming back, at least not to his division. There’s an opening in Narcotics, Killian’s old team, and while is not a transfer Killian would ever normally agree to, it's not a typical assignment. Despite his reservations, he knows August is good as his job and the best fit.

That’s the only reason he finds himself walking back into the Salty Winch at 10:29 on a Tuesday morning. August isn’t there yet, which doesn’t surprise him in the least. The truth is, he doesn’t honestly even know if the man will show at all, never having responded to his message.

It’s odd being back in that building, the incident from a few weeks ago notwithstanding. The derelict bar has always been special to him in a way he can’t explain, like an extension of himself. Liam brought him there after his first collar, saying a celebration was in order, and that one night somehow became a long standing tradition. Looking at the scuff marks near the well, he remembers Ruby’s attempts at clogging in 6 inch stilettos and the pub owner nearly crying at the sight of his ruined wood floors. He remembers Lance throwing up in the peanut bucket at the end of the bartop at his bachelors party.

But taking a seat in the booth in the back right corner, all he can see is her face the night they met.

It’s been a damn good day, and each sip of the rum in his glass dances it’s way down his throat, warming him on the way down. He’s buzzed to be certain, but hasn’t had nearly enough to be drunk, and Will intends to remedy that as soon as possible if the third round he just ordered is any indication.

They’d been after a small time dealer for months, and on the day they finally go to bust the guy, they somehow luck into nabbing one of the largest suppliers in the city by sheer dumb luck. But no one needs to know that. Not when he and Scarlett have just received public commendations from the commissioner himself. Not when he’s wearing his medal on his shirt like a goddamn first place science fair ribbon. Not when his name is being floated around as someone to keep an eye on.

And sure as hell not when the most gorgeous creature he’s ever laid eyes on has just walked into his pub and sat herself four bar stools over. To say that he’s gobsmacked is an understatement. It’s dark, but even in the dim pendant lit room he catches a glimpse of her eyes. They’re emeralds, sparkling as the light from a glass bottle being poured reflects in them.

He’s so infatuated with this woman in her tight red leather dress that he’s apparently missed an entire conversation, only his name on repeat is enough to pull his attention back to his mates.

“Oh bloody hell, I think we lost ‘em boys.”

There’s a heat overcoming his face and he’s not quite sure why. He’s left with many a fine lass from this very bar on other, much less eventful nights. His boys are no strangers to the effect he has on women, but perhaps this time it has something to do with the effect she’s having on him. This enchantress that’s beguiling him.

Perhaps the last shot was a mistake.

After some merciless teasing he’s out of his seat, making his way to the empty spot on the other side of her. He waits for a second, casually watching her send an email from the corner of his eye before making his move yelling out to the bartender.

“Robin, can I get my tab? I need to head across the street and file a complaint.”

She’s startled, her eyes flitting between him, the bartender, and her phone.

“Oh, what for?” Robin walks over with a towel and glass in hand, and a coy grin on his face. This may or may not be the first time he’s used this ruse before.

“Well, this woman here has just stole me beating heart right from my chest.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, and while it may not be the first time he’s used the line, it’s certainly the first time it’s ever not been reciprocated.

“Please tell me that line doesn’t actually work on girls.”

He can’t help but smile despite how epically he’s failed. And while she’s clearly not amiable to going back to his place with him tonight, she doesn’t outright reject his offer to buy her drink, or even a second one after that.

Somehow the two of them move to the booth in the back. He learns that she’s from the 42nd, a vice cop just coming from her last shift. The red leather dress is a departing gift of sorts from her supervisor, by way of a prostitution sting. She’s transferring to his precinct tomorrow and just wanted to come get a feel for the area before her first day.

They talk until the bar closes somehow, and when her cab pulls up, he takes his shot one more time. This time she laughs him off and tells him she’ll see him tomorrow. He gets his own cab, and even though he’s going home alone tonight, he’s still got a shit eating grin on his face when he walks through his apartment door, her laugh echoing through his head like music.

August arrives in true fashion, twenty minutes late, and Killian isn’t sure if the man is just being disrespectful or trying to somehow create an illusion of control over the situation. Either way, he’s not happy, although he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to himself that he’s happy that the man won’t be around for a while.

Boothe has always rubbed him the wrong way. Even before Emma, August had a way of pissing him off, always shooting off his mouth and trying to one up him. In truth, his annoyance turned to hatred when he learned of how close the man was with Emma. They had inside jokes and secret looks, and Killian always felt like an outsider. Eventually he learned that August was practically Emma’s brother, having been raised together in the foster system, but hearing of how Boothe was the one that introduced Emma to her first love, and man that led her down a path of petty crime, it only solidified in Killian’s mind that August Boothe is an arse of a man with no redeeming qualities.

Which is also the exact thing that he needs right now. The two of them sit in that back booth, discussing the matter at hand. The narcotics division has been trying to catch the supplier of pixie dust, a drug that’s recently made its way to Boston from New York. They have a fairly good idea who the importer is, but they haven’t been able to catch him thanks to a mole in their ranks. One of their own has been tipping off Walsh Nikko and their captain is fairly certain it’s Jefferson.

A man by all rights is mad as a hatter. Killian had only dealt with the man a few times, but undercover work had taken its toll on Jefferson and he returned from a botched assignment with demons in his soul.

Killian explains everything to August. How Captain Humbert needs him to come in as a disgruntled cop, how he needs to break rules and make his distaste of the Boston PD known. That it shouldn’t be difficult given their recent encounter and his suspension.

He knows it’s working when snippets of August’s ranting about his character get back to him.

______________________________

His adrenaline is waning and his stomach turns. He barely makes it away from everyone on scene into a back alley before the remainder of his lunch is spilling out of him. He’s never been so terrified in his life, and nothing is right. Nothing makes sense, and he’s still hurling his guts out. There’s blue and red flashes of light coloring the clouds above them as nearly all of Boston has turned out to the scene.

There’s going to be mountains of paperwork, but that’s tomorrow's problem. Right now, he just needs to get out of there, far away from the flashing photography bulb and the interviews. Away from the smell of blood, the screams he swears are still echoing in the building. He just needs to get away.

He’s not sure how he ends up here. He’s not even sure how he knows that address, but his feet have somehow brought him here and he knows that he can’t keep holding everything in. He can only pack it all down so much before the latches break and everything explodes around him.

Dr. Hopper doesn’t even seem surprised to find him standing outside of his brownstone, just motions for him to come inside. Archie goes to get him a towel, which he tries to refuse. It’s only at the man’s instistance that he realizes that he has blood on his jacket, and that’s his breaking point.

There’s blood on his jacket, and despite scrubbing it for the length of the car ride back to the precinct, he’s standing on the steps to the 56th and it’s still there. He’ll likely have to burn the damn thing. As remissed as he is though to discard his favorite article of clothing, it’s not the jacket that causes him pause.

He’s thought about this moment a lot of the last year. Wondering if she will be happy to see him, if she’ll care at all. There was a distance between them before he left, a chasm of his own doing, and when he told her he was leaving, he couldn’t miss the look in her eyes. A flash of betrayal and distrust, and while she’s the only thing that’s carried him through the last eleven months, he knows the chances of her thinking of him in the same way are lower than he cares to admit.

He’s thought of it so many times, playing it out over and over in his mind. How he’s going to find her and finally confess his feelings. Of how he can’t keep pretending that friendship with her is enough from him, that he wants more. How the random kisses they share are like knives to his heart showing him of what could be but isn’t. He’s played it out so many times, but never was he standing before her in a blood stained jacket.

But now that she’s there and in his arms clinging to him just as strongly as he is her, he couldn’t care less. She’s soft and warm and still smells of cinnamon just as he remembered, and her touch soothes the monsters whispering inside him. He felt broken the whole time he was gone, but she’s mending him.

He finally breaks away, he needs to tell her, he needs to just get the words out, but before he can, Liam is behind him ordering him to the bullpen, and now isn’t the time. It’s not a rushed conversation to have with people yelling his name from another room.

“I, we’ll talk later, ya?”

She nods, and it’s only then that he notices the faint tears that have been freshly wiped away.

They never talk about it though.

Liam takes him out to dinner, just the two of them, and by the time he gets home, the monsters are back, reminding him of all the things he’s done. Of what a villain he is now, and he knows that he’s not good enough for her.

His monsters are back, screaming, drowning out anything good and all he sees is the dark. Archie brings him a glass of rum, telling him after the night he’s had, he deserves it. And they talk. For the first time, Killian lets the walls down and tells Archie about all of it. All of the dastardly deeds he did while undercover. About how everything that has happened since is his fault, it’s because people like him don’t deserve happy endings.

Archie rebukes everything he says, but it does little to ease his conscience. He leaves Hopper’s house feeling slightly lighter though having unburdened himself, and possibly hopeful for the first time in years. But he’s still got a lot of work to do, and he knows it’s going to take time.

His suitcase is packed before it ever even occurs to him to call his commander and tell him that he needs a sabbatical. He expects pushback. Hell, he expects the man to tell him he’s fired, but his commander understands and tells him to take whatever time he needs. That they’ll find a place for him whenever he’s ready.

Liam’s boat is still in the harbor just as he remembers it. She’s been neglected the past two years, his own fault to be certain, and she’ll need some work as well, but she’s sea worthy enough, and he can’t be in Boston anymore. The sails are unfurled and he’s just pushing off when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, making one last call.

She doesn’t answer, he knows she won’t, and perhaps that’s why he’s calling her now, when he knows she’s busy. Instead he leaves a message, telling her that he loves her, that he always has and always will, but that he’s broken. That he needs some time to clear his head if he wants to be a man deserving of her heart.

He’s a bastard and a coward.

And then he’s gone.

[an-absolute-travesty]

Smokey Skies and Pretty Fires

Hecking FINALLY

This took like a whole ass month my dudes

There was no prompt, just some good ol self indulgent marelinh :) (that started as a joke but-)

About: Marella x Linh, vigilante arsonist/fire fighter au

Word count: ~4,250

Tag list: @cadence-talle @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percabetn @vibing-in-the-void-deactivated2 @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42​ @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e @mistythegirlfluxmess @we-have-no-bananas-today @we-wont-dissapear 

Warnings: corrupt governments, fire, swearing

Linh bent down, examining the ash that covered the ground.

Some of the structure still remained, but very little of it. This was intentional, and the perp knew what they were doing.

The long string of arson incidents on government buildings was getting to be too much. At first, Linh didn't mind much. No one was ever hurt, the files inside were saved and released to the public, no fire ever spread to other buildings. But as a fire investigator and, due to her hydrokinesis, a firefighter it was getting kind of annoying. She had better things to do with her time.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Hey Song, come over here for a minute."

It was her boss. She, obviously, followed.

"Chief Zaldo."

They nodded.

"I have a special assignment for you. We've gotten word that the arsonist may be attacking the courthouse next. We need you to scope out the place and put out the fire."

"Not stop the fire?"

"No. These people, or this person, might be dangerous. Just put it out, don't engage. Try to catch their face."

Linh nodded. She...wasn't great at taking orders, but she could try.

"Do you know when this is happening?"

"Three days. We hope to get more details soon."

"Who's your source?"

"Confidential information. Now go back out there, the folks will get suspicious soon."

"They don't know?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Song,"

"I have the right. Are...are you sure something bad won't happen, Chief?"

Zaldo sighed.

"No. No, I'm not."

~*~

Linh sat in the parking lot of the building next to the courthouse in the most nondescript car she could obtain.

... That being her own. The higher ups didn't exactly give her department the most funds. That went straight to the police sector. She stared at the news on her phone as reports came in of a protest across town. If she wasn't stuck in a stuffy government provided position she'd be down there with them.

She looked out the window once again. So far there were no signs of the arsonists yet.

She sipped on her mostly milk coffee. This seemed like it was going to be a long night.

~*~

At nearly three a.m. Linh awoke to a warm glow outside her car.

Shit.

Her orders from the Chief Had been forgotten completely. Without hesitation, she sprung from her seat and looked around frantically for the culprit.

There. A small figure was running away from the blaze. Linh chased.

"Hey! Kid! Get back here!"

The figure kept running. She couldn't blame them. She would too.

Luckily she was significantly taller than the person and caught up quick. It was probably very ill-advised, but she tackled them to the ground.

So much for "do not engage."

In the light of the still raging fire she saw that the apparent arsonist was a girl. She was about Linh's age with blonde hair and pretty eyes and-

CHRIST! LINH, SHE'S A SERIAL ARSONIST, GET IT TOGETHER.

Linh shook off her brief moment of lesbian brain fog.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same." the blonde girl looked in her eyes with a challenge.

"Only one of us was just caught in the act. You're going to jail."

"Am I?"

In one swift movement the girl shifted so she was on top of the pin.

"Welp, I'm going to head out now. Good luck with that fire."

She got up. Linh was still frozen in place as she ran away.

She turned around mid run and paused.

"Oh, the name's Marella. Not Mare, not Ella, no nicknames. Make sure you tell the papers that."

With a wink she was gone.

~*~

Linh sat in the Chief's office, twiddling her thumbs until they got there.

She had put out the fire that night. In fact, a lot of the structure of the courthouse was saved. When she came into work the next day she was welcomed with a warm applause.

When they walked into the room, she stood respectfully. Before she could greet them, they started talking.

"Song, how'd it go? Did you get any info?"

"Um...no, no I didn't. They must've run the other way."

"Dammit. That's okay. The fire's out, that's what matters. The cops can do the rest."

"Yeah, I guess." Linh couldn't meet their eyes.

~*~

Marella looked over the morning paper with disappointment.

"What's up?" Sophie said as she peered over her shoulder.

"They didn't even mention the fire, I made it extra dramatic and everything."

"Oof, guess we have to try again."

"Ugh." Marella flicked her wrist and set the paper to flame, it turned to ash as it hit the floor, "I'm so tired of these assholes. Peaceful protests don't work, aggressive protests don't work. These council bitches are stubborn. Our requests are reasonable, but nooooooo. Can't even let us have a real say in who controls everything."

Sophie hummed noncommittally.

"Like I said, we have to try again. Fill the skies with smoke, they have to notice eventually. Just like Forkle always tells us. Oh, and it's your turn to empty the dishwasher today by the way, Biana said she would put them all in your bed if you forget again,"

Marella waved her off, returning to her black coffee.

~*~

The next day, Marella went through the same motions as usual. She had leaked where she would be lighting up again, the first time was a risk but if all their cops were like the last she'd be perfectly fine.

And if it was the same cop...more than perfectly fine.

As she hauled the boxes of files out of the city hall she noticed a particular car sitting in the parking lot.

Guess she would see her favorite officer today.

Soon after the blaze started building, the woman got out of her car. Marella didn't run away this time, rather walked towards her.

"Lovely night isn't it?'

"You again."

"The one and only." Marella turned to her blaze. "Strangely beautiful, don't you think?"

"Yeah... I mean no- I mean-" The woman sighed. "Why are you doing this?"

Marella shrugged. "Well, it's simple. Peaceful protests seem useless at the moment so we're taking a more hands-on approach."

"No, why are you doing this? Not this...group, if there is one, why are you risking your freedom for this?"

"What freedom?"

Marella walked to her car. As she drove away she saw a large wave come from the fire hydrant, putting out the building in one go.

~*~

As Linh walked into the office, Zaldo already sat at their desk.

"Song, did you find anything this time?"

"No, I didn't, I'm sorry."

They sighed, putting their face in their hands.

"Song, I'm giving you one more chance. You're clearly determined, and to me the stealth angle seems best. But if this fails? We're going to the police,"

"Yes, Chief."

With a nod they gave permission for her to leave. She stood in the hallway for a moment, knowing what she had to do next but not knowing if she had the courage to do it.

~*~

Linh stood at the house's front door. She had chased down arsonists and saved kids from blazing fires and yet this was still the scariest thing she'd ever done.

She rang the doorbell. Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe she wouldn't have to do this.

The door opened.

In front of her stood the grown-up form of the teenage boy she had left Tam as. He still had his trademark silver bangs, apparently he hadn't cut his hair very much since they were kids. She had gotten rid of the silver long ago, dyed hair doesn't go over too well in the corporate world and her shoulder-length bob was much more practical than her long hair.

"Hello,"

"Long time no see," Tam's voice had an annoyed sound to it. "Came here to tell me 'Tam! You shouldn't mess around with that Black Swan stuff! They might be dangerous!' Again?"

Tam's impression of her voice was crude, unfortunately that was a direct quote from the last time they had talked right before their falling out. He always could hold a grudge.

"Well, um, actually, uhh... I mean sort of,"

Tam sighed.

"You know what? Whatever,"

He brought her into a tight hug.

"Come in, lecture me as much as you want, I'm not risking another 8 years without talking to the only family I have left,"

"I'm sorry about that, by the way," She said, crossing through the door and sitting on the couch.

"It's ok, you tried to make contact, I was being the asshole."

"I love you, asshole,"

"I love you more, dumbass. Now, go ahead and get your lecture started while I make us some coffee."

"Look, that arson stuff that's going on. Is that...you guys?"

He stopped mid coffee ground scoop.

"Considering you're with the government, it doesn't seem wise for me to confirm or deny,"

"Tam, I'm trying to help I swear. I just wanted to say that if it is then you should stop, I can only buy time for so long before the police are brought in,"

He put his hand on the counter, back still facing her.

"Are you threatening to call the cops? Well, we're not going to stop. It's not our fault that after years of our society abusing you, you decided to help it,"

"Tam I-"

"No. We've fought too long for what we want and you've worked too hard to make everyone forget you had a twin. I think it's best if you leave, Linh. Fitz is going to be home soon and he's heard too much to be fond of you."

"Fitz?"

"My boyfriend. Should be husband by now but your dear councillors aren't letting that happen any time soon."

"Tam, please, it's not like that I-"

"Please go. Right now. You know where to find me."

Linh nearly said something else, she wanted to argue, wanted to make sure she wouldn't lose her brother again.

Instead, she left without another word.

~*~

Linh stood outside the back of the new makeshift city hall (which was just an old fire department building repurposed) anxiously tapping her foot, waiting for Marella.

Soon enough a car pulled up and the petite woman got out of her car.

"Heya! You're waiting for me this time, that's new. What changed?"

Linh sighed.

"Look, you have to cut this stuff out. I- the police-"

"I don't care about the police. Lock me up, you have me right here officer,"

She extended her wrists straight out, offering to be handcuffed.

"I'm not a cop,"

"Really? Are you just an excitable citizen then? I thought you were just absolute shit at your job,"

Linh cracked a small smile but repressed it quickly.

"I'm a fire investigator...okay technically I'm just a firefighter but they needed more people,"

Marella cocked her head to the left.

"So none of this is even part of your job? You get paid more right?"

"Well no but-"

The girl opposite of Linh doubled over in laughter.

"Oh gosh lady you're just as bad off as the rest of us! No wonder you haven't done anything to stop us. Speaking of, scoot over, I have a fire to start,"

"No. Like I was trying to say you have to knock this off. They were trying to be stealthy but since I haven't given them any information they're sending in the cops if I don't get anything this time."

"You're trying to save my ass?"

Linh felt her face start to burn.

"Well um..."

"What's your name Miss Not-Even-A-Fire-Investigator?"

Linh sighed.

"It's Linh. Linh Song."

"Song? Like..." She trailed off, thinking for a moment. "No fucking way. You're the sister Tam always talks about. You know, putting me in cuffs won't do any harm to your brother, I'm no snitch."

"Tam has made it very clear he doesn't want my protection,"

"Why are you doing this then? You're risking your job, your...everything really,"

"I don't know,"

There was a tense silence. Marella stared her down, it was like she could see right through her into her soul.

"Linh, let me into the building,"

Linh didn't know why she moved. She didn't think she ever would know.

But she watched wordlessly as the files were taken out, loaded into a car, and then Marella walked a decent way from the building and tossed a ball of fire.

The building went up quick. It felt wrong to just stand there but...the fire was very pretty.

Soon enough Marella joined her in watching the blaze. They were wordless for a good while.

"We should get out of here soon. Someone's bound to notice the smoke," Linh was starting to get anxious.

"We? You don't have to wait for me, Linh. You have your own car,"

"Yes, I know,"

They were silent for another minute.

"Tam talks about how much he misses you, like a lot. Normally when he's drunk but still. He'd um... I think he'd like it if you um..."

"Yeah..."

Linh thought. And then she thought some more. What did she have to lose? She didn't have friends, or family, she went home every day to a mediocre apartment she could barely afford. She was underpaid and overworked.

"I want to join you,"

"You know, you said it yourself, you're risking your freedom,"

"What freedom?"

Marella smiled.

"Well, in that case, go home and get your things packed up. Meet me at the diner on 5th street tomorrow at noon. You might want to quit your job, we don't need a missing persons case on our hands."

"Be honest, is this a bad idea?"

"It depends how much you have going for you, but considering you're willing to run off to an undisclosed location with an arsonist I'm guessing you don't have much to lose. No offense," Marella looked panicked at what she said.

"None taken. Don't worry, I'm on my own. No wife and children or anything."

"Same,"

A siren wailed a few blocks away.

Marella smiled again. Wow, her smile was beautiful.

"Welp, see you tomorrow,"

"Yeah,"

Linh watched her walk away, a dorky grin on her face the whole time, before realizing she should probably get out of there before the police caught up.

~*~

The next day, Linh stood in the parking lot of the small diner. The only things with her a small backpack and a crate with Princess Purryfins, her murcat, inside. She didn't even take her car, rather walking the whole way.

Soon enough, a familiar car pulled up next to her and Marella got out.

"Is that it?" Marella pointed to her bag.

"Yep, like I said, no wife and kids or anything,"

"Yes but most people have, I don't know, clothes?"

"Swiftly changing the subject, I have a couple questions,"

"Shoot,"

"Since I'm not working anymore, how...exactly will I stay, y'know, alive and fed?"

Marella laughed. Linh knew that even if her answer was 'you won't, we live in the woods and you're our next dinner' Linh would still follow her if she was promised she'd hear that laugh again.

"Well, frankly I shouldn't be saying this in a public space, but we have allies in high places. They fund us,"

Linh nodded as if she understood fully.

"Any other questions?"

"None worth asking,"

"Cool, ready to go?"

Linh nodded again, tongue-tied from anxiety.

~*~

Nearly an hour later, they pulled up to a building in a rural part of the county. It seemed cozy enough, plenty land to be a farm though there were no animals. A small pond out to the side of a cabin that had clearly been added onto to make significantly larger.

As they walked up to the door, Marella pulled out an odd key with a swan insignia painted on the grip.

"Here is your new home for...as long as you choose to stay. You can always go out and get your own house if you want, but only paid with cash and no renting. We have to stay off the grid as much as possible,"

Linh just nodded again.

"You've been quiet," Marella pointed out.

"Yeah I'm just...it's been a lot,"

"I know, I'm sorry, you can still turn back,"

Linh shook her head.

"No, I'm committed now. I already sent the letter quitting my job,"

Marella gave her a sympathetic look.

"Alright, your room is down the hall, third to the left. I'll be upstairs if you need me. We're having a meeting tonight over dinner, then you can see everyone,"

Linh smiled politely, but started tearing up when she was left to find her room. What was she doing? Getting involved with an illegal organization against the government.

Ah the extents she would go to for a pretty girl. And nice. And funny. And smart.

Ugh. Cute girls would be the death of her.

~*~

Marella tapped her fingers on the table, waiting impatiently for the meeting to start.

Most people were there and she had introduced Linh to them.

Well, everyone but Tam and Fitz, who weren't there yet like the late-ass bastards they were.

Marella sat right next to the very quiet Linh, she seemed completely resigned about the whole ordeal. It had to be a very strange day for her.

Forkle stood up at the head of the table, tapping a glass with his dinner knife as if to get everyone's attention, even though the room was mostly silent.

"Good evening everybody! Today we have been joined by the lovely Ms. Song. Unfortunately we have not been blessed by the appearance of her brother as is usual of him."

Marella and the rest of her colleagues chuckled, Linh didn't.

As if on a timer, the door opened.

"Well speak of the devil," Forkle said, turning around to peer at the men in the doorway.

Tam's eyes went wide at the sight of Linh. He quickly ran over and scooped her into a hug.

Their conversation was quite long and very quiet, even for someone right next to them. All Marella caught was "I promise I won't leave again, I love you asshole," Linh came away with a slight sparkle of tears in her eyes.

After they broke apart, Forkle continued.

"Okay, now that we're done with that sweet moment, it's time for the boring stuff. It'd come to our realization that we can't continue on as we have been. We need something new to grab their attention. Anyone have a suggestion?"

The table was silent.

"Ms. Song? Perhaps you're more diligent than these kids,"

"We're very much adults, thank you very much," Keefe piped up.

"Mr. Sencen, when was the last time you changed the oil in your car?'

"...touché,"

Forkle sighed, and after a moment Linh started talking.

"I was thinking...all this fire stuff probably isn't great for the environment and stuff. And, well, water should work just as well. But, I mean, I don't want to impose-"

Squall cut in. "Ms. Song that's a great idea, we can cause just as much destruction with less harm and throw them off,"

Everyone around the room nodded their agreements and Marella nudged Linh's arm.

"See? You're fitting in already, nothing to worry about,"'

Linh smiled.

~*~

Linh sat at the edge of the pond, making small ripples in the water and looking at the fish. A toad croaked in the distance.

She didn't know if she was supposed to be out here, or if there were any rules at all. It didn't seem so, of all the people she'd met so far they treated this base like their home.

She felt a tap on her shoulder that made her nearly jump out of her skin. When she turned around she was expecting Tam or someone on their 'Collective' or whatever. Turns out, it was just Marella. She sat next to Linh on the bank.

"Told ya' everything would go fine,"

"You told nothing of the sort,"

"I was thinking it,"

Linh chuckled. "Yeah, it was fine,"

"So, what's your first impression of the gang?"

"Sophie and Dex seem nice, I'm a bit concerned for Keefe's car's health, I don't think Fitz likes me very much..."

"They can take some getting used to,"

"Mhm," Linh mumbled before they fell back into silence.

"So..." Marella said after a while. "Do you think you'll stay? Here at the base I mean,"

"For a bit. I don't exactly have an apartment anymore and this is way better than the one I had anyway. Just until I can get back on my feet by myself,"

"You can really stay as long as you'd like. Most people have their own homes but quite a few stay here. Sophie, Biana, and I do, at least,"

"Then maybe I'll stay a while,"

"I'd like that,"

Linh felt Marella's body heat get a lot hotter just then. She couldn't quite see in the moonlight but she guessed she was...blushing?

"I um... I was thinking um...that...um," Marella seemed to continue to heat, Linh was concerned she was going to catch fire. "I was thinking that maybe we could um...go out sometime? I- I mean as a date, o-or as friends if you don't-"

"I'd love to,"

Marella sighed in relief. "I didn't expect that to go well, honestly,"

Linh laughed. "Well, how does tomorrow at 8 sound? We can go to that pottery place on 2nd street, I think they mostly do kid's birthdays but that's never stopped me before,"

"Sounds great, it's a date,"

"It's a date,"

Linh almost just got up but hesitated for a moment. She quickly pecked Marella on the cheek before going back to the house as fast as possible. She almost thought she saw the light of a fire in the corner of her eye.

~*~

The beep-like news theme comes on followed by the announcer.

"Tonight on the 7 o'clock nightly news with Jennifer Watson"

The woman on T.V. straightens her papers.

"The two silvered-hair bandits known as the "Trouble Twins" by the public are still escaping the police's grasp. They have flooded two government buildings this week and don't seem to be intending to stop any time soon. They claim all they want is to have a proper negotiation with our lawmakers. Will the council respond to these vigilantes? Or will they continue to let our buildings be destroyed? And coming up next, this video of Bobo the panda has the internet going wild-"

Marella turned off the T.V. and slouched further on the couch. She bit into her apple, unamused.

"Babe, you have to be patient. We're getting closer, Councilor Oralie said she was going to introduce the idea of negotiation, it'll be ok,"

Linh's words helped but Marella was still unsure.

Linh sat back on the couch and nudged her.

"There's nothing to worry about, c'mon, give me a smile,"

Marella couldn't help but grin at the dork she called her girlfriend.

"There it is! Dinner will be ready in like...5 minutes so," Linh took away Marella's apple, "Then we can go meet up with Tam to fuck up the Tribunal Hall,"

"Sounds like a lovely night,"

Linh laughed.

"I love you, you know that?"

"We do say it to each other quite often,"

"Yes but I don't know," Linh looked down at her lap. "It's been almost a year and... I guess I thought I'd regret joining you guys at some point but I never have,"

"Well, I am quite charming,"

"She says, as she slowly slides off the couch,"

Indeed, Marella was now halfway to the floor. Linh just laughed.

~*~

"Order in the court!" Councilor Emery slammed down the gavel.

Bronte rolled his eyes. Ever since they decided to cut the telepathic communications (Emery's migraines were getting bad) he had been using that stupid thing.

"Today the council will be voting on one thing, are we willing to listen to the Black Swan's pleas? Or do we attempt to wrangle them?"

Everyone around the room scratched on their piece of paper with the old-fashioned and unwieldy fountain pens. Bronte already knew what his vote would be, he had many conversations with the Forkle brothers in the past, now down to one. It was an easy decision.

Once all the votes were in the box, Emery started counting. He sighed.

"And, with a close vote of 7 to 5, we will be attempting to negotiate with the vigilante group," He pounded the gavel again. "Meeting adjourned,"

Oralie gave Bronte a thumbs up from across the room. He rolled his eyes again, but fondly this time.

~*~

BAM BAM BAM.

The gavel was loud, Linh didn't like it, her anxiety was high enough that day, the stimulation of it all was too much.

Marella gently held her hand under the table.

"Order in the court!"

Sure, "court", not like they were sitting in the community center because they hadn't managed to rebuild the actual places of court yet, not at all.

"Today we have gathered to discuss many things. First, on the agenda is discussing giving citizens the right to vote as a democracy. Then, the details of a possible police reform and redistribution of funds. Finally, on what the current legal definition of marriage is, and the possibility of changing that."

Tam caught Linh's eye from across the room, he nodded at her.

Now, the real fight began.

[all-things-mlqc]

Boys reaction to MC who never have date before meeting them. Like, the boys as MC's first love.

My first HC on here and I was memeing half the time while writing it. Included what the boys would do after hearing this news as well because why not. I’m not a Lucien fan but lord have mercy on my soul, I couldn’t help making his romantic af. He is the ideal boyfriend/date minus the l i e s that come in the MS and I hate it. All the crossed out stuff is just commentary because I couldn’t help myself. Hope you enjoy~ Thank you for your ask <3

How the MLQC boys react to being MC’s first love below the cut~

Victor:

Follows with some snarky comment after he calls her “Dummy”.

Let’s be real here, if he doesn’t call her dummy immediately, then something is wrong. Reminds me of when we streamed the first episode of MLQC and we were all yelling “CALL US BAKA” the second Victor came on screen.

While he seems cool and collected on the outside, you can hear the computer shutdown sound play on the inside.

To him, this is a shocking confession.

Victor: I’m not surprised a dummy like you hasn’t been in a serious relationship before.

Victor, internally: How has she never been in a serious relationship before??

He’s not very good at expressing himself honestly through his words but he truly admires MCs hardworking nature.

He finds that very attractive in a woman and is surprised that other men in the line of business haven’t taken their shot with her yet. it’s because they can feel your death stare on the back of their heads, kind sir

One thing he struggles with is being himself. He tries to act like everything is in his control all the time.

Because of this, upon hearing MCs confession, he invites her to a fancy dinner at his penthouse insert Victor’s Dazzling Date because THATS ALL THAT MATTERS. Jkjk haha... unless...

He wants to impress her as much as possible even though he knows deep down that she doesn’t care about what a person has and rather how they are as a person

BUT ALAS. The stress be real for her first boyfriend.

He wants her to know she made a good decision without verbally telling her out of his own bitch mouth I love you, please call me baka so he goes over the top with their first date.

Basically pulls a Mr. Krabs when taking Mrs. Puff on a date. Just add shades to Mr. Krabs to represent Victor’s “I’m calm. I’m chill. I’m all good. We vibin out here.”

All MC wants from him is his honest and genuine thoughts. and a lifetime stock of pudding because good god a girl has chocolate needs

MC eventually figures out Victor’s intentions with all the gifts he rains on her because hE dOesNt nEeD tHeM he can’t give her anything more than a cup of pudding up front

MC knows this and accepts the secret gifts with a smile.

She sends a gift in return to his office the following day along with a thank you for the wonderful date.

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of Victor’s heart rate slowing to the average persons.

Kiro:

insert pikachu meme

This boy is mind blown.

“How have you never been in a relationship before??? That can’t be true!”

Kiro sees the good in everyone, so hearing that MC has never been in a relationship before him is

He gives her a bright smile and playfully hugs her from behind.

The two of them laugh together as he whispers genuinely in her ear,

“I promise to make you happy. You won’t regret it.”

He immediately drags her off to Loveland’s Amusement Park, where they spend the whole day together.

Rides, snacks, games, you name it, they did it all.

Kiro naturally spoils MC without putting much thought to it.

It’s like a reflex for him. It’s just who he is as a person. Always wants to share the happiness in the world with the people he cares about.

As for how anxious he is after hearing the news about being MC’s first love, he is screaming at a pitch only dogs can hear.

Almost 100% of the time he has a smile on his face and even convinces himself that he’s not worried about it.

But he is.

It only hits him when he thinks about another man taking MC away from him after seeing her talking with another guy.

MC will catch him without his carefree smile at times and eventually confronts him about it.

He shows her a wide smile and says there’s nothing to worry about.

L I E S. BABIE LEMME HOLD YOU I PROMISE YOU DONT NEED TO WORRY.

After a few attempts of trying to get Kiro to open up about it, he gives in and says he’s worried he’s not good enough for her HAHAHHA, GOOD ONE KIRO

MC, however, turns it around on him

MC: I’m afraid IM the one who isn’t good enough for you.

They both smile and embrace each other, knowing they’ll get through any little concerns like this.

Gavin:

He knows.

We’re talking about the boy who has been in love with MC since high school; Who has protected her behind the scenes ever since he laid eyes on her.

He would know if she had been in a previous or current relationship.

It only comes as a shock when she says she’s never been interested in anyone else romantically before. Lies. Have you seen the other suitors, MC. In a world where guys are that hot, you must’ve had at least 1 crush, c’mon sis.

Gavin respected her personal boundaries and never looked into her personal affairs so he had very little knowledge of her views on other guys.

He gets a little bit nervous, since he believes her standards must be high if she hasn’t been interested in anyone else before.

Does the full on soldier oath, bend the knee cliche which includes “I promise to always protect you” and “Nobody will ever be good enough for you”

Mc: Gavin no...

Gavin: NOBODY WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU.

Spoiler alert: You are waayyyyy too good for me, Gavin.

He doesn’t have too much anxiety over the thought of being MC’s first love though since he’s very good at staying true to himself and knows MC is one to admire that about others.

Gavin is a quiet guy in general. He’s more of an observer and watches MC to take note of what she enjoys.

When he sees her eyes shine bright after seeing a delicious dessert cafe, he offers to take her. He makes sure to express how he also wants to go since he knows she won’t accept unless he is interested as well.

Boy literally has no interests the moment he’s with MC. He is essentially that vine

Doesn’t even wait until the question is over and just “Absolutely. Let’s do it”

MC: But I haven’t even said anything yet...

He isn’t much different from how he is now. Has around the same amount of anxiety just from being in MCs presence.

Boy just wants to PROTECC and is always panicking on the inside but tries to remain calm.

He is very good at calming his anxiety though since he’s had so long to understand what MC values and knows she just loves people for themselves.

That’s all he needs.

Lucien:

His eyes widen slightly at MCs confession.

It’s nothing too mind blowing for him since he knows how refined MC is and how dedicated she is to her work.

It’s still surprising to him that nobody has tried to sweep her off her feet yet.

With how kind MC is, it would be hard for her to refuse a date with a gentleman.

Lucien gently presses a kiss to MCs hand upon hearing her confession.

Lucien: I am honored to be given the opportunity TO WOO to take such a beautiful lady out on a date~ AND MORE PLEASE

Lucien is the definition of a gentleman shhhh we aren’t speaking of current chapters in the main route Lucien. Cover your eyes. Pretend you do not see.

With little to no anxiety showing on his face after the reveal that he is MCs first love, he insists on taking her out to a nice restaurant the most classy and romantic 5 star restaurant Loveland City has to offer as a way to thank her for dealing with his bs (both his bullshit and black swan hahaha I’m so funny oml) being given the opportunity to treat her as a beautiful young lady should be treated.

He’s also more on the less anxious side of being MCs first love.

Lucien is a traditional man and does stuff by the book.

Because of this, he respects and likes the idea of being MCs first love.

He doesn’t go over the top yet isn’t cliche with dates and little actions.

He knows exactly what to say and when to say it. Though he may struggle with being openly honest about his own thoughts and feelings, he tries his best to express himself for MC. a lot of the time he just assumes talking to her about his personal affairs would bring her down.

This, however, gets better overtime as they continue to date.

They spend a lovely evening at dinner together and take a midnight stroll through the city oh god city stroll PTSD

He gently wraps his jacket around her bare shoulders with a soft smile as he thanks her once again for believing in him believing he is worthy of her

Bonus:

Shaw:

Shaw, smirking: Is that so?

Oohhhhh you know what that smirk does to me. DOWN BOY D O W N.

He’s surprised but his reaction is very mutual.

His internal thoughts are more on the line of “Hmm I’m her first boyfriend, aye?” and “OYA OYA”

He very likely most definitely places his hand on the wall beside her head and leans in closely to get a reaction from her as he growls,

Shaw: So that means you really like me, yeah? I’m making this way too hot gdi. Shaw stans please enjoy your food

MC looks up to see that same playful smirk resting on his face.

highkey don’t know how to respond because Im just “ok think of 3 things she would probably say and go from there” while my brain just computer error sound

MC: and what about yourself? I’m sure there are tons of girls throwing themselves at you yet you choose me.

He pulls away and places his hands in his pockets with a chuckle.

Shaw: I’ve had my fair share before.

iVe HaD mY fAiR sHarE bEfoRe MY ASS

I’m convinced he’s had one time things with girls purely for information or he isn’t the least bit interested in relationships because he thrives on stimulation and entertainment and nOboDy iS gOoD eNouGh plus he literally asks what people do on dates when taking mc out in his first date in game SO

Either way, this is a LIE. The man can’t relationship for the life of him so he has no RIGHTS to tease her.

Just let him believe or you can try to tease him about it in hopes of getting a little pouty face out of him.

Honestly, their first date would just be the first date we got in the game and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Shaw is a wild child and doesn’t care for romantic dates. at least that’s what he wants you to think

A little insight on his character: He’s very blunt and easily pushes people away all the while keeping them close enough to gather intel. He doesn’t get emotionally attached to anyone and makes sure it’s mutual on both ends. Personal relationships only drag him down, especially in his line of work. He prioritizes other things before relationships which makes him so damn FRUSTRATING BUT I SWEAR I WILL CRACK YOU OPEN LIKE A WALNUT JUST YOU WATCH ME.

With that being said, after actually being in a relationship with MC for a while and opening up about their personal lives more, Shaw can be very romantic. He may be awkward for a bit at first since he literally doesn’t know what a date is but he gets there eventually.

He’s still full of fun but is also very gentle and makes sure MC is enjoying herself.

I got sidetracked with the actual HC on this one but Shaw stans need food I NEED FOOD

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 23: And So It Went

Hey everyone, this is the last chapter of the first series! I do have plans for a sequel in the works, however! Thank you for anyone who has read it this far!

(Ally)

Surprisingly, I didn’t fail all my exams.

Actually, I did pretty well on most of them. I somehow passed Drama with a good mark. The sub who took over was pretty chill during the exam and let us bring all of our notes. My other exams weren’t too bad either. All and all, a pretty successful end to term.

I was just about finished with my packing when I got a text from Lyn. Sarah had already gone home, since her last exam had been two days ago. I took one last look around the room before heading out. I could finish packing later.

The weather outside actually wasn’t terrible today. It was a pleasant sunny day with barely any wind chill. I tucked my chin into the top of my coat as I walked across the campus to meet up with my girlfriend. A happy tingle went through my body as thought about that. It was a little silly to still get excited about the thought, but hey, why not be happy?

Lyn stood in the archway that connected Harper and the library together. She was leaning against the wall when I got there, scrolling through her phone. The bandage was off her face now, only faint lines to show where she had been cut. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she gave me a quick kiss.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you,” I said back.

“Ready to go?”

I nodded. She held her arm out and I looped mine through it. Together we walked over to the big tree in the middle of campus, where Michael was waiting for us. His plane left tonight but he wanted to be here for it. He waved when he saw us, and he laughed when Lyn held her other arm out with a smirk. He wasted no time on grabbing a hold of it, Lyn laughing along with him as he did.

I knew Dahlia was intrigued by what we were doing as we walked together down the path to where the Swan Pond was. I waved to her with my free hand, and she ended up trailing after us, curiosity bright in her eyes.

When we got there, we all untangled from one another and got to work. Dahlia sat on the bridge nearby and watched as we cleaned away snow and ice from a spot under one of the trees that hung over the pond. After all the snow was gone, Lyn put down a bundle of flowers. Michael tucked a stone with a beautiful design cut into it in front of the roots, making sure it was secured. I hung one of our old amulets over the stone and gently nailed a wooden plaque onto the tree. We stepped away and admired our work.

Here Lies The Forgotten Students

We remember who you are, and what you did for us. We know that society failed you when they stopped asking questions. No one should have given up on any of you. To David, we know your story. To Amelia, we know your truth. To Jamieson, we know your tale. To Fiona, we know your reality. To Fredrik, we know your narrative. We’re sorry that it took this long before someone finally learned what happened to you all, but at least you can rest easy now, knowing that the person who did this to you has met his justice. All we can hope for you now is that your next chance at life is better than this one was.

With all our love,

Spook Searchers.

“We really need a better name,” muttered Lyn.

“Hey, we’ve been through too much for us to change it now,” said Michael with a waggle of his fingers. “That would be like, sacrilegious.”

“Besides, it’s a fun name. It hides away all the horrible truths and traumas that were inflicted on us,” I pointed out.

Lyn shrugged indifferently. “I just hope we never have to do something like this ever again. I need it scrubbed from my mind.” We both nodded in agreement.

Dahlia drifted over and knelt in front of our makeshift grave. I could see her mouthing the words as she read along. Her fingers ran over the names of the departed, her eyes sad. She dropped her hands and sat there quietly for several minutes without saying a word. When she looked back at me, she was smiling through her tears.

“This is quite lovely. I’m glad you all did something nice for them, they deserved it.”

I nodded at her. “Of course. And we intend to figure out who caused your death as well. We haven’t forgotten about you either.”

Dahlia’s eyes went wide before she looked away. I saw her brush away the tears from her face and nod slowly. “Thank you. It truly means a lot to me.”

We left her alone after that. I spared a look back as we left and saw her kneeling in front of the grave, her head down and hands clasped in prayer. We walked back to the library together and decided to get one last warm drink together. Lyn paid for all of us, even though we both argued against it. The lady behind the counter laughed as we both tried our best to push Lyn out of the way, which ended in absolutely failure.

“You can’t beat these gains,” Lyn said with a wink.

We sat down at the table in the back and looked out the window. I thought about what a crazy 3 months this has been. I couldn’t believe how so much had happened in such a short time. Not only solving all those murders but dealing with all the school crap on top of it all. I felt like I was the same person I was at the start, but more mature now. Someone who liked who she was, someone who liked that she wasn’t ordinary.

“You’re gonna have some crazy jetlag, you know,” Lyn said to Michael as she sipped her hot chocolate.

Michael sighed. “Yeah, probably for a day or so. It’s not like, a terrible flight but it’s bad enough. What are you doing for the holidays?”

I saw the twitch of Lyn’s eyes before she looked down at her drink. “I’m gonna stay with Olivia for the first bit of the break, but after Christmas I’m heading to Florida for training camp. I’ll be back like, 2 days before the new term. So, not the most relaxing break but it’ll be fun.”

Michael nodded as he looked at me. “What about you, Al?”

“Going home,” I said with a smile. “I’m going to sleep for the entire break. Maybe watch some movies and TV. But me and this brain deserve a big break.” I poked at my temple.

“Yes, it does!” Michael slapped his hand against the tabletop.

We chatted for a little while longer before Michael had to head back to grab his things. His buddy offered to drive him to the airport, but it was a bit before his flight. Still, better to wait in the airport than spend money on a taxi. Lyn gave him a hug and slap on the back. I gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek.

“Have a good flight, I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” he said with a smile. “Plus, you can always call me. You know where I am.”

I nodded as we embraced one last time. Michael waved to us as he walked backwards. I gasped when he tripped over his own feet and nearly landed on the casted arm. Luckily, he caught himself and shouted, “I’M OKAY!” before racing back to his room.

I chuckled to myself with a shake of my head. Michael was so chaotic at times. But that was something that I loved about him. He was authentic. I wasn’t lying when I said I would miss him. There was something calming about his presence. He was a good friend, and I was glad to have met him.

Lyn and I walked back to Lukas hand in hand. I noticed she was getting a bit of a far away look in her eyes again, so I squeezed her hand to bring her back. She blinked and looked down at me with a smile.

“Sorry,” she said with a shrug. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

Lyn worked her jaw as she chewed on her thoughts before answering. “Lots of stuff, I guess. Training camp, Christmas with Liv, shit in general. It’s gonna be nice to have a break from it all. Then we’ve got the big championship meet to worry about when I get back. Just tryna make sure I’m organized because there’s a lot to remember.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said soothingly.

“I know, I just like to be on top of things, you know?”

I laughed. “Nope! I’m pretty sure I only passed some of my classes by sheer luck. I handed in something for Anthro a week late, but I think my prof forgot I was even in the class, so she didn’t take points off.”

“Jesus,” Lyn shook her head with a playful smirk. “I can’t imagine being that disorganized. How’d you get through this term, let alone solve a crazy case? You’re something else, honestly. Like Wonder Woman or Supergirl.”

I blushed deeply. Lyn was always saying these really nice things about me and well…I wasn’t really used to them. I pressed up against her and buried my face in her arm, causing my glasses to go askew. Oh well, it’s not like I could see all that well anyway. Cold weather plus warm breath equals foggy glasses. Also, being compared to one of my favourite superheroes? I’m slightly dying of happiness on the inside.

When we got back to Lukas, Lyn helped me pack the rest of my things. It probably took the same amount of time that it normally would have because we kept stopping to kiss, cuddle, and I even got Lyn to watch an episode of Stargirl with me. It was really peaceful. A much better date than nearly getting killed by an out-of-control spirit. Hours passed by like seconds, and the next thing I knew, we were in bed sleeping.

The room was nearly pitch black as I stared up at the ceiling. Lyn was sleeping beside me, her arm tossed over my waist, snoring softly. I had been sleeping, but it came in fits right now. After everything we’ve been through, especially with that horrible horror realm or whatever the hell that had been, I’ve been having more difficulty sleeping through the night. I mean, I was sort of used to it, but not to this extent. My therapist and I were going to have a field day when I saw her next.

I turned my head slightly to look into the face of my girlfriend. I just wondered how it was all going to turn out. By some strange twist of fate, we got together because of my moral compass and curiosity. Lyn stuck around because she wanted to figure out what happened to her friend. I sometimes wondered what would have happened if she didn’t believe me that day in the café. Would I have gone through with it anyway? Would Michael and I have done it alone? I lightly traced my fingers across the scars of her arm, the ones she got because she protected me. It probably would be a different story then, huh?

All I know is this is how it turned out, and I don’t think I would have done anything differently. We got hurt, we got physical and mental scars. But I really think it was worth it to help those people. They were crying out for so long, waiting for someone, anyone, to hear them. I feel lucky in a way that I was the one who answered.

Finally, I felt my drifting off again. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me away, hopefully to a dreamless land.

XXX

Lyn helped me shove my last bag into the trunk of my dad’s car. I told her she didn’t need to stick around and help, but she told me it was no big deal. My dad nodded his thanks at her, and she nodded back. I stood by the car, fidgeting with the bottom of my coat. Lyn glanced at my dad one last time before she gave me a massive bear hug.

“Have a great break, Ally. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

I squeezed back as tightly as I could. “You too. I hope everything goes well with your sister.”

Lyn nodded, her cheek brushing against the side of my face. “Me too.” And even though my dad was still there, she cupped my face between her hands and kissed me. I blushed from the intensity of the kiss, feeling all the unsaid words. When she pulled away, I could see the emotion shining brightly in her eyes, her cheeks and ears bright red.

I kissed her cheek one last time before we untangled ourselves. I got into the passenger seat and waved to Lyn as we pulled away. She waved widely back the whole time, never stopping until I was out of view.

My dad instantly started to tease me the minute we were on the highway. I moaned and made a big show of telling him off, but I was really happy. It felt good, talking to my dad like this. As long as the topic of ghosts wasn’t brought up, we were good.

I didn’t know what next term had in store for us, but I was looking forward to it. We had to solve Dahlia’s murder, but at least we could take our time with it. There was no time limit, and hopefully no creepy murderer. There was a lot about this university, heck, even this town that was hidden beneath the surface. I wanted to learn so much more about it all. Sure, it was bad this time, but usually the ghosts are just lonely people who want to share their stories. I had this special gift, and it was about time I used it, instead of being ashamed of it.

After this winter break, I wanted to see what the future had planned for us.

[eirist]

Sweet Surrender

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot scribble.

Rating: T (Sweet and light this time)

Note: I just wanted to digress from the usual and just place these two in a light moment together. Plus, I needed to create something to get the writing gears going on again and finish some still-pending prompt requests.

Summary: Though somehow in the middle of their often misinterpreted relationship, they did realize...  

He stood in silence inside the darkened library with the corner of his mouth lifted up in amusement as his good eye settled on the hunched figure, draped peacefully over her mapping desk, fast asleep. 

He noticed that there were maps drying on the table in the center of the room. Zoro counted five of them… with the sixth one still half-done and right underneath the slumbering navigator.

Shaking his head, he approached her. From the looks of it (and based on the number of maps she finished, the fact that he hadn’t seen her since lunch and the idiot’s cook non-stop wailing about his Nami-swan not coming down from the library for dinner), she’d been drawing and charting for almost the whole day.

Zoro studied the orange-haired girl. She could’ve stopped working once she was tired, instead of randomly falling asleep while still in the middle of sketching.

But this is Nami.

And she is freaking stubborn as hell.

Besides, drawing maps… are her pride and joy. And once she gets into the zone it would be hard to make her take a break.

He learned it the hard way.

With her head still resting on her right arm, Nami continued to doze. There was no movement from her at all, except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Not even to swipe away an errant lock of hair that randomly fell across her face.

Standing near her, he noted the scattered quills, measuring instruments and notebooks surrounding her. Three bottles of ink were uncapped. He made a clicking sound with his tongue at her carelessness.

He covered the bottles, placing them on the nearest bookshelf, far away from the danger of accidentally spilling all over the mapmaker and her desk.

Zoro gently removed the eyeglasses she was clutching in her hand, placing it aside. He reached out to brush the stray strand away from her face, before glancing towards the unfinished map that she was using as a pillow.

As softly as possible, he tapped a finger on a random black line, checking if the ink on them is still wet. If it is, Nami will be waking up with hard-to-remove lines and figures on her face and arms.

Luckily, he realized, she had fallen asleep on the still blank part of the paper.  

A snore unexpectedly came from her—loud and scandalous—earning a roll of his grey eye, as well as a snort from him. 

Talk about unladylike and ungraceful. She'll be pissed to know that she does snore despite her claims of being 'delicate' and 'decorous'.

She suddenly mumbled something under her breath and he crept closer to hear her better.

"Mmm...” she murmured. “Tie up the sails… a storm is coming in half a minute… steer the ship 30 degrees northeast! Zoro! Get your lazy ass moving... mmm..." her voice trailed off, snoring again before she was pulled into a much deeper sleep cycle.

He didn’t fight the smile that crept across his face. Even asleep she was still navigating, forecasting the weather...

And ordering him around as usual. 

Her head lolled to the left, as she probably tried to turn her body in her sleep. His hand immediately came up to prevent her from rolling her face across her still-drying work.

"Uuhmmm..." she groaned. That pulled her out of her sleep. She drowsily opened her eyes to stare at him, her brown eyes unfocused.

"You're gonna nose dive into your map and desk," Zoro explained, unconsciously rubbing his thumb on her cheek while checking her face for ink marks. 

She just blinked up at him, still in a half-asleep state.

Zoro sighed at her response or lack thereof. "Let's get you to bed," he suggested as he moved to slip an arm under her knees and back, effortlessly lifting her up. 

"Hmmm..." she hummed dozily, automatically snuggling closer to him. "Not yet..."

"You're already tired. Just call it a night."

“Mmmm…”

"I'll take you to your room. You can finish the rest of your maps tomorrow alright?"

A slight shake of her head told him no. 

He gazed at her disapprovingly. 

"I still have to clean up..." she whispered. "There are—"

"I'll tidy it up ok? Just get some sleep."

She finally tilted her head back to regard him through half-lidded eyes. "Really?" She asked amusedly though a bit groggily.

"Really." 

"That's just...” she closed her eyes and nuzzled his chest again. "Great…”

Zoro grunted in response.

“Though I still want to draw..." the cat thief murmured, yawning.

"Tch Nami!"

"Hmm... I still want to..." her voice trailed off.

"What you want is to rest," Zoro muttered. “Why are you so obstinate?”

That seemed to wake up her willful self that loves contesting with him.  

“Hah!” She chortled as she blearily looked up to him. “Speak for yourself!”

“You should learn to listen sometimes; it could be good for you.”

“Right back at you, stubborn swordsman.”

“Tch.”

They held each other’s gaze in challenging way.

He gotta hand in to the navigator… and here he thought she doesn’t have enough energy to argue or contradict him.

Such vitality. Just to get an opportunity to hand his ass over to him.

Maybe it is in her nature to go against him?

Just like it is in his.

“You can’t tell me what to do Zoro,” she declared haughtily.

“And you can?” Zoro countered, referring to all the occasions she had bossed him around.

“Yes!” Nami said with a curt nod.

The green-haired man hauled her up a bit higher brusquely, so they were face to face.

They continued staring at each other waiting for the other to give in. Zoro, trying to impose his sensible suggestion for her to get some rest. While Nami was adamant on being hard-headed.

Nami finally puffed her cheeks, one definite sign that she’s willing to concede as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She hates it when he has a point. But to be honest, she can barely keep herself awake anymore, and being cradled against his muscled chest was not helping at all. 

“Fine you win,” she reluctantly said. “But only if you put me in bed.”

Zoro smirked, having won this round. “With pleasure.”

“And tidy my stuff.”

“Sure.”

 She sighed contentedly at that, pressing herself closer to him and resting her head on the crook of his neck. “Mmmm... It’s so comfortable here…” she said quietly.

He really doubted it if he’s more cozy than her bed. But from what she had just said and from the way she had her arms around him... it had him blushing just a bit.

He can feel her fingers, drawing island shapes on his shoulder in a rather lazy but soothing manner. 

"Make sure my maps and tools are a-ok alright?" She requested her breath tickling the skin of his neck.

"Yes your wickedness," Zoro drawled.

"Or debts will sky rocket," she threatened before yawning and finally closing her eyes again. “And I’ll hold your swords and cleaning kit hostages.”

He just snorted at the empty threat, making his way out of the library.

But not before kissing her forehead softly. A sort of reward. 

"So sweet Zoro..." 

"Shut up."  

Her smile was radiant even as she slipped back into the land of dreams with another contented sigh. 

Two willful people just don’t yield to another that easily. Though somehow in the middle of their often misinterpreted relationship, they did realize...  

Sometimes it’s not really bad to give in to each other.

As every towel thrown on the ground between them will always be a sweet surrender. 

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

All the times Arya mentions being (un)afraid

“A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.” - Arya I, AGoT

“The direwolf," she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest, suddenly afraid.” - Arya II, AGoT

“She looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch it, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father said, "Go on, it's yours," and she took it in her hand.” - Arya II, AGoT

“Her fingers brushed against rough unfinished stone to her left. She followed the wall, her hand skimming along the surface, taking small gliding steps through the darkness. All halls lead somewhere. Where there is a way in, there is a way out. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya would not be afraid. It seemed as if she had been walking a long ways when the wall ended abruptly and a draft of cold air blew past her cheek. Loose hairs stirred faintly against her skin.” - Arya III, AGoT

“Three of them started forward, chainmail clinking softly with each step. Arya was suddenly afraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, to slow the racing of her heart.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Arya closed her eyes. For a moment she was too frightened to move. They had killed Jory and Wyl and Heward, and that guardsman on the step, whoever he had been. They could kill her father too, and her if they caught her. "Fear cuts deeper than swords," she said aloud, but it was no good pretending to be a water dancer, Syrio had been a water dancer and the white knight had probably killed him, and anyhow she was only a little girl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she groped inside the chest for Needle. She had hidden it way down at the bottom, under everything, but her stuff had all been jumbled around when the chest was dropped. For a moment Arya was afraid someone had found the sword and stolen it. Then her fingers felt the hardness of metal under a satin gown.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“The long windowless hall beyond the door was as black as she remembered. She held Needle in her left hand, her sword hand, the candle in her right fist. Hot wax ran down across her knuckles. The entrance to the well had been to the left, so Arya went right. Part of her wanted to run, but she was afraid of snuffing out her candle. She heard the faint squeaking of rats and glimpsed a pair of tiny glowing eyes on the edge of the light, but rats did not scare her. Other things did. It would be so easy to hide here, as she had hidden from the wizard and the man with the forked beard. She could almost see the stableboy standing against the wall, his hands curled into claws with the blood still dripping from the deep gashes in his palms where Needle had cut him. He might be waiting to grab her as she passed. He would see her candle coming a long way off. Maybe she would be better off without the light …” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Yes I do, Arya could have said. I killed a boy, a fat boy like you, I stabbed him in the belly and he died, and I'll kill you too if you don't let me alone. Only she did not dare. Yoren didn't know about the stableboy, but she was afraid of what he might do if he found out. Arya was pretty sure that some of the other men were killers too, the three in the manacles for sure, but the queen wasn't looking for them, so it wasn't the same.” - Arya I, ACoK

“Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya made herself approach the wagon. Every step was harder than the one before. Fierce as a wolverine, calm as still water. The words sang in her head. Syrio would not have been afraid. She was almost close enough to touch the wheel when Biter lurched to his feet and grabbed for her, his irons clanking and rattling. The manacles brought his hands up short, half a foot from her face. He hissed.” - Arya II, ACoK

“Yoren wouldn't like it if she fought with him. She tried to look afraid. "Wolves? For true?” - Arya III, ACoK

“From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast. Thirty yards from shore, three black swans were gliding over the water, so serene . . . no one had told them that war had come, and they cared nothing for burning towns and butchered men. She stared at them with yearning. Part of her wanted to be a swan. The other part wanted to eat one. She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren't so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food. Finding bugs was easy, all you had to do was kick over a rock. Arya had eaten a bug once when she was little, just to make Sansa screech, so she hadn't been afraid to eat another. Weasel wasn't either, but Hot Pie retched up the beetle he tried to swallow, and Lommy and Gendry wouldn't even try. Yesterday Gendry had caught a frog and shared it with Lommy, and, a few days before, Hot Pie had found blackberries and stripped the bush bare, but mostly they had been living on water and acorns. Kurz had told them how to use rocks and make a kind of acorn paste. It tasted awful.” - Arya V, ACoK

“She had thought she had known what it meant to be afraid, but she learned better in that storehouse beside the Gods Eye. Eight days she had lingered there before the Mountain gave the command to march, and every day she had seen someone die.” - Arya VI, ACoK 

“I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have listened. If she hadn't thrown them that axe they'd all be dead. For a moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest. Only Jaqen H'ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed right over her. He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I'm just a grey mouse girl with a pail.” - Arya VII, ACoK

“As his men herded off the captives at spearpoint, Arya saw Pinkeye emerge from the stairwell, blinking at the torchlight. If he found her missing, he would shout and threaten to whip the bloody hide off her, but she was not afraid. He was no Weese. He was forever threatening to whip the bloody hide off this one or that one, but Arya never actually knew him to hit. Still, it would be better if he never saw her. She glanced around. The oxen were being unharnessed, the carts unloaded, while the Brave Companions clamored for drink and the curious gathered around the caged bear. In the commotion, it was not hard to slip off unseen. She went back the way she had come, wanting to be out of sight before someone noticed her and thought to put her to work.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“Jaqen still owed her one death. In Old Nan's stories about men who were given magic wishes by a grumkin, you had to be especially careful with the third wish, because it was the last. Chiswyck and Weese hadn't been very important. The last death has to count, Arya told herself every night when she whispered her names. But now she wondered if that was truly the reason she had hesitated. So long as she could kill with a whisper, Arya need not be afraid of anyone . . . but once she used up the last death, she would only be a mouse again.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“Arya went to her knees. She wasn't sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.” - Arya  IX, ACoK 

“Arya's mouth hung open. “Who are you?" she whispered, too astonished to be afraid. "How did you do that? Was it hard?” - Arya IX, ACoK

“I'm not afraid," she said. "That boy Ned said . . .” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“The castle's not closed," Arya said suddenly. The sergeant had said it would be, but he was wrong. The portcullis was being drawn upward even as she watched, and the drawbridge had already been lowered to span the swollen moat. She had been afraid that Lord Frey's guardsmen would refuse to let them in. For half a heartbeat she chewed her lip, too anxious to smile.” - Arya XI, ASoS

“When the time came to leave, he needed Arya's help to get back up on Stranger. He had tied a strip of cloth about his neck and another around his thigh, and taken the squire's cloak off its peg by the door. The cloak was green, with a green arrow on a white bend, but when the Hound wadded it up and pressed it to his ear it soon turned red. Arya was afraid he would collapse the moment they set out, but somehow he stayed in the saddle.” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“The sound was as huge as he was, a terrible groaning and grinding, so loud it drowned out even the captain's voice and the crash of the waves against those pine-clad ridges. A thousand seabirds took to the air at once, and Arya flinched until she saw that Denyo was laughing. "He warns the Arsenal of our coming, that is all," he shouted. "You must not be afraid." "I never was," Arya shouted back. "It was loud, is all.” - Arya I, AFfC

“Ashore. Arya bit her lip. She had crossed the narrow sea to get here, but if the captain had asked she would have told him she wanted to stay aboard the Titan's Daughter. Salty was too small to man an oar, she knew that now, but she could learn to splice ropes and reef the sails and steer a course across the great salt seas. Denyo had taken her up to the crow's nest once, and she hadn't been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat.” - Arya I, AFfC

“Valar dohaeris." He pushed off with his oar and drifted back off into the deeper water. Arya watched him row back the way they'd come, until he vanished in the shadows of the bridge. As the swish of oars faded, she could almost hear the beating of her heart. Suddenly she was somewhere else . . . back in Harrenhal with Gendry, maybe, or with the Hound in the woods along the Trident. Salty is a stupid child, she told herself. I am a wolf, and will not be afraid. She patted Needle's hilt for luck and plunged into the shadows, taking the steps two at a time so no one could ever say she'd been afraid.” - Arya I, AFfC

“She opened her eyes and stared up blind at the black that shrouded her, her dream already fading. So beautiful. She licked her lips, remembering. The bleating of the sheep, the terror in the shepherd's eyes, the sound the dogs had made as she killed them one by one, the snarling of her pack. Game had become scarcer since the snows began to fall, but last night they had feasted. Lamb and dog and mutton and the flesh of man. Some of her little grey cousins were afraid of men, even dead men, but not her. Meat was meat, and men were prey. She was the night wolf. But only when she dreamed.” - The Ugly Little Girl, ADwD

“After three hours of wine and words, the priests took their leave … all but the kindly man, the waif, and the one whose face bore the marks of plague. His cheeks were covered with weeping sores, and his hair had fallen out. Blood dripped from one nostril and crusted at the corners of both eyes. "Our brother would have words with you, child," the kindly man told her. "Sit, if you wish." She seated herself in a weirwood chair with a face of ebony. Bloody sores held no terror for her. She had been too long in the House of Black and White to be afraid of a false face.” - The Ugly Little Girl, ADwD

[duhragonball]

shadowjack12345 replied to your photo “Got a commission this week by the awesome FrauleinPflaume, and it...”

Nice to finally see Zatte, I always liked her - she's dangerous in a way we don't often get in DB.

Hey, thanks, that means a lot to me.    Also, this is all the prompting I need to try to explain how I came up with the character.   Spoilers under the cut.

The thing that held me up early on was that I couldn’t decide if Luffa’s “career” in the past should be long or short.   I used the Bardock: Father of Goku TV special as a model of a “short” Luffa arc.    You have this character who’s only mentioned in passing (by Raditz), and the TV special fleshes him out and kills him off in the space of an hour.   Then he wakes up in the past in the 2011 “Episode of Bardock” Special, if you want to count that.    On some level, I imagined it could be possible to give Luffa a really quick run in her native era, and then send her to the future to join the TIme Patrol, like the Bardock specials.   

I worked on Chapter 126 and 127 today, so I think it’s clear that I did not go down that route.   I knew the alternative would be to really flesh out the character, having her go through multiple adventures like Goku in Dragon Ball.   That meant I had to come up with extra stuff for her to do.   The simple fact is that I really enjoyed writing the character, and I wanted to take the long road, so that later on, when she refers to her past exploits, there would be some weight to them.   

So I worked on coming up with stuff for her to do in between major plot points.   I thought about giving her some love interests, since we’d never seen a Saiyan character jump from one relationship to another, like Spider-Man in the 70′s.   At some point, I thought it might be interesting to have her run into an old flame, someone who knew her before she went Super.   

The problem with that was that when we first meet Luffa, she’s only 19 years old, and she’s been married to Kandai for about a year.    And she’s been living on the Dorlun colony for about five years.    I say this like someone else foisted this problem on me, but I’m the one who came up with all that stuff, to better amplifly the tragedy she experiences before turning Super Saiyan.   This isn’t some seasoned veteran who’s been all over the universe, loving and leaving ‘em from one planet to the next.     She’s young and inexperienced and isolated in a very small community.    

But I still liked the idea, and I hadn’t published Chapters 1-10 yet, so I still had a lot of room to set things up for later.   I realized the only way this would work would be if the “old flame” was a Dorlun who had admired Luffa from afar.    And that led me to Captain Mesas, the leader of the Dorlun militia.  

Mesas originally served only one purpose, which was to be a sort of proxy who could represent the entire Dorlun colony that Luffa had been hired to defend.   I assigned her gender at random, I think.    I just know that I didn’t put a ton of thought into it, since I was planning to kill all of the Dorluns off later anyway.   Luffa would take this personally, because she came to appreciate these people without really admitting it, and this would be demonstrated by her respect for Mesas, who was their lead warrior, and thus the most Saiyan-like of the bunch.   Eventually, I renamed her Captain Zatte, because I had settled on naming all the Dorlun characters after anagrams of metric prefixes, i.e. “zetta”.  

So I quickly came to the conclusion that the only way this “reunited with an old flame” idea would work would be if it was a Dorlun, and the only one that would make any sense would have to be Zatte, and the only way that could work would be if there was some sort of romantic tension between them.    They couldn’t be lovers in those early chapters because Luffa was married at the time, but later, there would need to be a moment where Zatte would confess her feelings and Luffa would have to feel the same way.   

And this is how I ended up making Luffa bisexual.    I didn’t want Zatte to be a man, and I couldn’t make Luffa gay, because I needed her to start out in a marriage to a Saiyan man.   Too much of the plot depended upon that.   I struggled with this decision for a couple of reasons.   

First, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, and I didn’t know if I wanted this story to be my first try, because I was already trying to do a lot of other new tricks.   I didn’t want real-world wlw’s to see this story and be disappointed by my amateurish attempt to get it right.    

Second, I felt disingenuous about making such a major change to the character for my own convenience.    I felt like I’d seen that a lot in comic books over the years, where writers would seemingly assign bisexuality to characters arbitrarily, or for “shock” value, or just to be salacious.  I didn’t want readers to think I was only doing this for shallow reasons, or to get my jollies writing two girls making out.  

But at the same time, I really wanted to do it this way, and I finally decided to just go with it and see where it took me.   In hindsight, I realize that I was just being a fraidy cat about the whole thing.   Writing wlw romance isn’t so functionally different from mlw romance, and once I got used to the idea, I realized the only thing I needed to do was to treat it with the proper respect.    And really, this wasn’t so far off from the original premise.    I wanted to make the “Legendary Super Saiyan” a woman to defy convention and to piss off dudebros.    Making her queer just continues that same line of reasoning, right?   I used to see jackasses on the internet say that women couldn’t turn Super Saiyan because they couldn’t “get angry enough,” which is pretty similar to a lot of biphobic crap I’ve heard on the internet.    I mean, I used to listen to Loveline on the radio around 2001, and Dr. Drew was acting like bisexuality was some made-up thing.    Apparently Dr. Drew went nuts somewhere along the way, or maybe he always was, but he seemed pretty progressive in 2001, and he accepted gay and lesbian callers just fine, but he told bi callers to “figure out what they want”, and that never sat right with me.   People used to say there were no such things as black swans, too.    That’s Luffa all over.     You can deny her all you want, but she’ll still kick your ass.  

I’m this close to going off on a rant about J.K. Rowling, so let me try to force myself to talk about Zatte here.    The problem I ran into almost immediately was that I wrote what I had originally planned for her, and I was very pleased with how it turned out.  And then I had to move on to the next arc, and yet, she was still there, and I knew I’d have to do something with her.    I feel like I’ve been winging it ever since, but my main priority was to set her apart from Keda, the other Dorlun character I kept around.  So I ran with the idea that Zatte is more “Saiyan-like” than the rest of her species, and maybe that makes her a little radical at times, maybe not in a way we humans might notice, but a way that other Dorluns would find unsettling.   Dorluns are survivalists, and for them “risk” is a four-letter word, but Zatte’s a thrillseeker at heart.   She wants to survive in spite of the dangers rather than back away from them.    Keda would find somewhere to hide for several months until it’s safe to come out, but Zatte would try to go all Die Hard on a situation.   Keda sticks close to Luffa because Luffa is the strongest person in the universe, so by Luffa’s side is arguably the safest place to be.    Zatte sticks close to Luffa because she’s a furry being by Luffa’s side is arguably the most dangerous place to be.    If she can survive there, she can survive anywhere.  

There’s also the whole fanaticism angle.   At some point, I came up with the idea that Zatte sees Luffa’s Super Saiyan emergence as a watershed moment in history.     I sort of threw that together, mostly to make Luffa uncomfortable and to add some tension to their relationship, but it also distinguishes Zatte from characters like Chi-Chi or Bulma, who see Super Saiyan as a lot of flashy nonsense, signifying nothing.    “Punk rocker?   Don’t you understand?   Your son is a miracle!”

That angle is kind of hard for me to work with, because I also tried to make Zatte very grounded at the same time.    I guess it’s like if you had Jerusalem Syndrome but you were very self-aware the entire time.   You make a toga out of your hotel linens and just constantly saying “Man, I’m just being really nutty right now, but oh well.”

A lot of her tactics are sort of rooted in stuff I thought made sense with the weaker characters in Dragon Ball.   I don’t really know how strong Zatte would be.    I envisioned her as being like a “mere mortal”, like Lois Lane, but in Dragon World even guys like Mr. Satan are insanely tough.   I’m pretty sure Bulma could kick Brock Lesnar’s ass if she visited our own world.   He’d F5 her and she’d just get up and slap him in the face and he’d collapse.    I feel like if Zatte entered the 23rd Budokai, she could sweep the entire thing.   That’s not what I set out to do, and it sounds really arrogant because I’d be putting her over Goku and Piccolo, but come on, that’s low-tier by DBZ standards.   If she couldn’t dominate the 23rd Budokai, then definitely the 22nd, which also sounds unthinkable, but that’s how this crazy show works.   Yajirobe could have won the 22nd Budokai if he’d only thought to enter it.   

My point is that “weaker” characters can do a lot from the sidelines if they know their limits and pick their spots, like Tien using the Kikoho on Cell and Super Buu, or Yajirobe cutting off Vegeta’s tail, and so forth.    Most of those guys hate resorting to that sort of thing, because they prefer to stand and fight in the open, but Zatte specializes in sneaky hit-and-run attacks.   She should be able to shoot ki blasts, but she sticks to firearms instead, because they’re more precise and ki senses can’t pick them up.  She likes being underestimated, to the point where her ideal battle is one where the enemy doesn’t even know she’s on the field.  

I dunno, I’ve always wondered if I was getting her “right” all this time, but now that I summarize it all in one place, it doesn’t seem as disjointed as I feared.   I had all these different things I needed her to be and do, and most of them involved finding ways to justify her continued presence in the story, but maybe it’s all worked out after all.   Sometimes I feel like Zatte is the Yoko Ono of this fic, but the Beatles suck, so I shouldn’t indulge in their crude analogies.    I Zatted my way into this mess, and I’m happy to Zatte my way out.    

[vatrixsta]

How Long Will I Love You (2/3)

First before I forget, tagging  @the-corsair-and-her-quill because this is the long overdue second part of her Secret Santa fic! Also tagging @csmarchmadness because it is likely the ONLY reason a metaphorical gun was put to my head and this has been produced out of the darkness of my hectic schedule. Eagle eyed readers may notice that it now says 2/3 instead of 2/2 - that is because, while this ends where I always intended it to, I have realized, while going through the emotional journey of editing it, that while it DOES end the piece, it’s kind of open ended and I’m not going to do that to you. So I really hope you all (but especially  @the-corsair-and-her-quill ) enjoy this and know that you will get the third part by my next March posting date! Because deadlines work for me. 

Also on AO3

Killian was brooding on the couch, watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

“You hate Christmas movies,” Emma noted, plopping down next to him.

“It would appear I do,” he answered with false enthusiasm.

“So stop making yourself miserable,” she chastised, snatching the remote from him and flipping around until she settled on something she knew he’d like.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he asked.

“The Devil Wears Prada,” Emma answered. “It’s about flamboyantly dressed people living their truths under the oppression of a tyrannical corporate captain.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you comparing my Captain Hook to the actual devil?”

“Never,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tensed under her touch, which made her tense and that place that had been aching beneath her ribs give a painful lurch. What was that thing? Right, her heart. It was two steps forward, one step back with him these days. “I’m going to wrap some stuff I got for Henry. You’re gonna love the movie, I promise.”

She ran to their bedroom like the house was on fire. She wanted to cry, like she was in one of those cheesy Christmas movies.

Later, he found her poking at one of Henry’s newly wrapped packages and wrapped himself around her, one of those full body hugs that made her feel warm and safe and cherished.

“You’re right,” he rasped against her ear. “The devil is quite a bit more my style.”

“Never question me,” she sassed with false confidence.

He squeezed her. “Never.” It sounded more like a vow than the words they’d exchanged at their impromptu wedding, with Henry their only witness. She reminded herself she’d promised to be patient.

It wasn’t a virtue she would ever be accused of possessing.

….

A few days later, Killian marched up to her with all the intent of a man determined to take his medicine and practically demanded, “Go out with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

He sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Swan, I’d like to take you out. On a date. A proper one.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. Truthfully, her heart was beating a little faster at the idea that her husband might actually want to court her again. That was how he’d referred to it the first time, because he should not be allowed but here they were.

“Henry’s at that boy Adam’s house tonight,” he continued, his tone at that boy indicating exactly how much Killian didn’t care for Adam’s attitude or influence on Henry. Emma didn’t exactly disagree, but she was so happy Henry had made a friend in a new city that she was making a lot of concessions. “Let me show you a good a time, Swan.”

She smiled, a gentle, soft thing. “Okay.”

….

He didn’t give her any hints about their evening, just that she should dress warmly, so Emma threw on her favorite pair of jeans, her favorite thick red sweater and one of Killian’s black leather jackets. He seemed pretty fond of that given the momentary heat she saw flare in his eyes and she scored one point for Emma Swan.

They started on a sort of Killian-created oyster crawl, sampling the best places near them and marking down their favorites for future reference. From there, they walked to the wharf and boarded a ferry for the South Shore where Killian had arranged for a table overlooking the water where they could sip cocktails and chat. He told her about his progress on the book - slow going, apparently, but he was ‘remembering’ how to write - which she thought was an odd way to put it, but she’d learned over the years that the writer’s brain was a strange and mysterious place and she tended to leave him be about it.

A local band was playing at a nearby place and Emma was only too happy to cuddle into Killian’s side as they strolled inside and found a cozy table in back. She rested her hand on his thigh and did an internal happy dance when he didn’t tense at all, instead pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head. The music was decent, a folksy rock sound that suited their evening well. As they wound down, Emma found herself in that loose happy place where she could smell the salt air on Killian’s skin and was having vague fantasies of stripping him naked and having her way with him. It had been weeks and though she’d gone a lot longer without sex in the past, she hadn’t since the most illegally attractive man in the world had spun her world upside down.

The illegally attractive man apparently had other plans. There was a cart that he’d discovered served the best hot chocolate and clam chowder (thankfully in separate containers - some of the fusion foods had gotten a little out of control) and since it was freezing despite all the alcohol they had warming them from the inside, they huddled together on a bench while they shared both and chatted about Henry’s grades (which were better than average but not quite up to his usual standards).

By the time they arrived at the midnight showing of The Princess Bride, she started to get a little annoyed.

The evening was perfect - packed with both her favorite things and the things they enjoyed doing together. But it was like he was trying to keep them so active and busy that they’d pass out in a heap once they got home. Emma felt less like a wife and more like an errant toddler.

Her husband was trying to tire her out.

And damn him, it was working. She nodded off halfway through the movie and woke to Killian gently stroking her chin with his thumb. The cab ride back to the apartment was a combination of cozy and pissy. If he hadn’t been so off lately, Emma might not even have noticed what he was doing. Given the tactics he’d employed recently, she could come to no other conclusion.

Killian didn’t want to have sex with her. Whatever was going on with him was the reason they hadn’t had sex in weeks. Emma tried really, really hard not to assume he was cheating on her, but she had the gossipy words of past unhappy foster families ringing in her head - if he isn’t getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere was a refrain she’d heard over and over again when the mother of the house worried over her husband’s odd behavior.  

Still a little tipsy from the alcohol they’d indulged, Emma let Killian help her upstairs and into bed. When she tried to tug him in after her, he smiled and kissed her forehead - such a platonic gesture. Had he even kissed her, really kissed her, in weeks? Emma was shuffling through her fuzzy memories. It wasn’t like she kept a mental tally of how often she and Killian locked lips, but maybe she should start because she honestly couldn’t remember a single time he’d kissed her since they’d gotten to Boston.

“I’ll turn in soon, luv,” he murmured. “Gonna get a little work done first. Sleep sweet, darling.”

Emma stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before she couldn’t take it another second, suddenly feeling horribly sober.

The walk to Killian’s office seemed to take forever, partly because she wasn’t really sober and partly because she was afraid of what she’d find. Would he be texting someone? God, maybe Skyping with some woman? Was that an image Emma wanted in her head? It definitely wasn’t but the not knowing was driving her crazy.

It was almost a shock, how banal the scene that greeted her was. His laptop shut tight, phone nowhere in sight, Killian was staring out the window, brooding was the only word Emma could think of to describe it. A glass of amber liquid was clutched in his right hand and she assumed it was rum, given the open bottle on his desk. Killian was no stranger to his favorite drink, but she was surprised he’d indulge after how much they’d had to drink earlier.

Though, she realized, thumbing through the drinking part of their evening, Killian had ordered a single beer with her and then switched to club soda. Emma had to hold in a bark of hysterical laughter. He’d been getting her drunk so he wouldn’t have to take advantage of her.

She wanted to confront him, though she wasn’t even positive what she would say. She wanted to shake him until he told her what was going on. She wanted to demand he leave if he wanted to leave.

She wanted him to tell her she was being ridiculous and he was just … oh she didn’t know, at this point if he said he had a rare disease he was struggling with she would almost be relieved, but the immediate thought that followed, the idea that Killian wouldn’t exist anymore, that he might die, took all the air from her body and she promised any deity listening that she would let him go without hesitation if it meant he was alive.

No, Emma was definitely still too drunk for the conversation they were going to have. And she was going to have to do something about her armor - she wasn’t wearing it, hadn’t worn it around Killian in so long, she almost didn’t know how to put it back on. But she would have to if she was to survive this.

…

“Can I stay over at Adam’s again?” Henry asked.

“Flerf?” Emma was still nursing hangover black coffee and wishing the sun would dial it down a notch, but she was positive Henry wasn’t asking for another sleepover when he’d barely been home for ten minutes.

“I believe your mother meant to say ‘no,’” Killian cheerfully translated, depositing a heaping plate of greasy bacon, eggs and carefully cut up fruit in front of her and a smaller plate with a lot more fruit to bacon ratio in front of Henry.

Cue Henry’s getting-less-adorable-by-the-day ten year old eye roll. “Come on, we’re in the middle of an important campaign, everything is riding on it--”

“It’s a video game, lad, not a military offensive,” Killian chided.

“We’ve got teammates depending on us,” Henry insisted.

“So you can play from your bedroom,” Emma said. “That’s how this all works, right? Everyone’s playing from different locations?”

Henry looked so bitter she’d actually been paying attention to how his games worked.

“It’s family night, kid,” she added. “You know how I feel about family night.”

It was a low blow, but Henry instantly looked guilty. He knew exactly how much she’d wanted a family her whole life and she’d made a point, no matter how much she was working, to taking one night a week for them to spend time together. Killian had been inducted into their lives on a family night officially and they’d rarely missed one in Henry’s entire life. She knew one day he’d be an actual teenager and way too cool for board games with his parents, but she wanted this for him and, selfishly, she wanted it for herself as long as she could get it.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll tell Adam I can’t make it.”

“You can still dial in,” Killian reminded him, completely butchering the tech speak he had no interest in retaining.

“Nah, they can do one campaign without me,” Henry said. “Besides, if they fail without me, I’ll get team leader for sure.”

“That’s my devious little man,” Emma praised, pinching his cheeks as Killian ruffled his hair, being with pride at the boy’s cunning.

Henry squirmed until he was able to disentangle both of them and started shoveling his breakfast down. Killian took his seat beside her, lifting her hand to his mouth to press a brief kiss to her knuckles before tucking into his own plate. It was a simple gesture, one he did almost habitually, but it reignited the roiling in Emma’s gut.

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered, escaping to the bathroom to throw up. She was rarely this badly hungover after a few drinks and she blamed the emotional stress on how bad she felt.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted her sullen thoughts and Killian peeked his head inside. “All right, luv?”

“I’m dying,” she muttered, a touch dramatically.

“I certainly hope not,” he said lightly, dropping to his knees beside her and holding her hair back in case she got sick again. “What would we do without you?”

YOU’RE SO FUCKING CONFUSING, she wanted to scream at him. But her head hurt too much and her armor was the opposite of fortified so - repression and denial it was.

Emma rested her head against his shoulder and let her husband comfort her.

…..

Family night was a huge hit - Kilian wasn’t pulling away when it was the three of them, gleefully taking all of Henry’s money in a game of Monopoly then dutifully picking a movie Henry loved (Star Wars) as was his right as victor. They ate popcorn and Killian didn’t even fuss too much at the Nestle Crunch mixed into the bowl. With Henry snuggled between them (God she didn’t want to think about him being older and unwilling to snuggle with them) it was a perfect night.

Then the movie ended and Henry went to bed, though not before letting out a gleeful YES! that indicated his friends had not been victorious in their campaign and he would ascend to the role of team leader.

Killian was changing into his pajamas and hiding an exaggerated yawn behind his prosthetic. Subtle, Jones, real subtle.

Emma, very tired of this game he was playing, stared him down as she started stripping off her clothes. Sure enough once he realized she wasn’t being remotely modest, he jerked around so quickly she thought he was going to strain something. She kept glaring at his back until she was down to her underwear. He was pretending to look for something on his nightstand. She moved into his peripheral vision with purpose and, assuming she had finished dressing, he glanced up to look at her and his mouth dropped open slowly as he realized she was nearly naked.

“It’s, ah…” He licked his lips, slowly, and she was somewhat gratified to know that at least her naked breasts still had some effect on him. “Cold. It’s cold tonight, isn’t it?” he asked like he almost wasn’t sure.

Emma pulled back the covers on her side of the bed then did a very bad job of covering herself with them. “Then you should come to bed and keep me warm,” she said in the best come hither voice she had.

And even though she almost expected the rejection, his hesitation still stung. The weird thing about it? He wanted to. Emma might be insecure and a little crazy when it came to her abandonment issues, but she knew when a man wanted her and Killian definitely did. He was almost swaying toward the bed, as if in a trance. Boobs did that to men, but she was pretty sure it was more than a heterosexual man’s biological reaction. Killian wanted her but for reasons only he knew was determined to deny it.

Emma felt suddenly and absurdly ashamed of herself - she didn’t need to throw herself at a man who wasn’t interested and she definitely didn’t want some kind of pity fuck to manifest out of this desperation she was displaying. Gripping the covers tightly in her fist, she turned her back on Killian and made sure she was completely covered. She could feel his indecision, could feel him staring at the back of her head, but she was done trying to initiate things. She’d promised him patience, but since she was out of that, he could live with petulance instead.

The mattress dipped on his side as he cautiously got into bed. He reached a tentative hand out toward her arm and she jerked away from him. She spun to face him and his eyes were so comically wide that she might have laughed if she wasn’t so hurt and angry.

Mostly angry.

“Don’t pretend,” she snapped. “Just go sleep in your office; we both know that’s what you’re going to do as soon as you’re sure I’m asleep anyway.”

She hadn’t been sure of that, actually, but the flare of guilt in his eyes was as good as a signed confession.

“You obviously don’t want to sleep with your wife, so don’t.” She turned away from him again, bundling herself in her blanket and her misery.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered after nearly a full minute of silence. “I’d rather lose another limb than hurt you.”

“You are hurting me.” Emma was angry at the tears that were falling because they felt manipulative somehow, but the idea that Killian might not want her anymore ripped open every scabbed over wound she had. “You’re hurting me every second you don’t want to be with me. Killian, seriously, I don’t…” Even though it felt ridiculous, she wriggled around until she faced him again, without relinquishing her blanket burrito; she really, really didn’t want to have this conversation topless. “I don’t want your pity or your guilt. I don’t want you to stay because you feel trapped. You can…. We can figure out how you could still be part of Henry’s life, if that’s what’s holding you here. But you don’t want me anymore. You’ve made it pretty obvious and I’ve been in too much denial to see it. Do you know how pathetic it is, to realize that your husband has lost all interest in you, but he feels too bad for you being a fucking foster kid to leave?”

“Lost interest,” he muttered, as if it were the most hysterical thing she’d ever said. “Bloody hell, do you have any idea how impossible it is to lie next to you, night after night, willing and wanting and not simply ravish you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” she whisper-yelled, flinging the blanket aside, her unbound breasts be damned. She stomped over to the dresser and pulled on the first t-shirt she found, then spun around with her arms crossed, ready to really fight. As much as they could, given Henry was down the hall. “I am so sick of your mixed messages and pleas for time. You feel like a fraud? Well, stop acting like one! Decide what you want and live with it.”

“It’s not that bloody easy,” he hissed, rising from the bed to regard her from across the room. “I can’t just think about what I want. I have to think about what’s best for you, for Henry. It’s not fair to expect…” He clamped his jaw shut tightly. “Nothing I say will bloody matter,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “I can scarcely reconcile all the thoughts raging through my own mind. How could I possibly expect you to contend with it? I’m not the man you think I am and… I’m hurting you. Something I swore I would never do, not intentionally. Perhaps… perhaps I should leave.”

Even though Emma had basically challenged him to do just that, everything inside of her froze at the idea of it. “So that’s it. You’re leaving me.” She felt like she was three again, or seven or twelve or fifteen or seventeen - unwanted, unloved, undeserving of the family she’d craved and fought for.

“No!” His hoarse denial snapped her out the cold dread seeping into her limbs. He moved closer to her, the way you might approach a feral cat, his hand and prosthetic outstretched. “Not leaving you. I would never… Emma, I would do anything to stay with you. But I don’t want to keep hurting you while I figure out how to do the honorable thing.”

His eyes were begging her for understanding, but Emma was done coddling whatever delusion was chasing around his head. She knew Killian had demons, the same as she did, and if his were trying to destroy everything they’d built together… well she could put on her big girl panties.

Emma slapped his shoulder. “That’s for thinking it wouldn’t hurt me more than anything if you left.”

“Emma--”

She slapped his other shoulder. “That’s for thinking you had to do anything to stay with me but stay.”

“Swan--”

She shoved his chest, hard, with both hands, satisfied when he stumbled back a few steps. “And that’s for thinking I want you to do the honorable thing if your crazy, fucked up line of thought has led you to consider for a second that it’s somehow not right or fair for us to be together.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he seethed back at her. “You don’t really know me! I’m not the man you married anymore!”

Emma tried very, very hard not to diminish what was obviously a very real torment weighing on him by calling bullshit at the mere idea. So she took a deep breath and asked in a very calm voice, “Do you love me?”

“Emma,” he sighed.

“No, you don’t get to act like I’m ridiculous for asking. You’re the idiot here, so you get to answer any question I have. Do you love me?”

“More than anything,” he said in that low voice that made her toes curl. Point to Killian for style.

“Do you… do you want to be with me?” she asked, faltering only slightly in her confidence.

He sighed fondly. “More than anything,” he replied, his tone gentling.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then let me see if you’re the man I married. Let me decide that, okay?”

Slowly, almost with fear, he nodded his head.

“Good,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, trying to organize her thoughts. She wasn’t the one who was good at romantic declarations, but for him, she was going to try her damnedest. “It wasn’t love at first sight between you and me. I was prickly and guarded and you actually liked that about me. You’ve been hurt deeply before, lost more than I ever had in the first place, but we understand each other; you and me, it wasn’t love, but we understood each other at first sight and I think that probably scared me most of all. You saw me and I saw you and for better or for worse I don’t think there was a point either of us could have turned back.”

“Swan,” he choked, his eyes filling with tears. But she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

“I don’t know you? You love with your whole body, so deeply that loss is like a knife to you. You’d cut off your other hand before you’d lose someone you love again. I don’t know you? You’re capable of things that make you ashamed, things you did after you lost your brother, after you lost your first love. You drowned for awhile, until you found a better way to channel all that loss and rage and then you met me. You loved me and I don’t know if I could have let anyone but you love me like this, because I don’t know if anyone else would have loved me enough to break down those walls. But you did. You always have. So you can tell me you don’t want me and you can leave if you think you’ve made a mistake being with us, but you do not get to tell me I don’t know who you are. You’re not a coward so don’t act like one.”

Killian stared at her with a strange kind of longing, almost salvation in his eyes.

“As usual, Swan… you’re damned right,” he muttered and then his hand was in her hair and his mouth was pressing against hers with all the urgency and passion she’d been missing for weeks only it was somehow more, something that left her more breathless, more wanting, more relieved than she could possibly have imagined.

He walked her back until she bumped into the dresser, then he lifted her up to sit on top of it so they were at the same level. She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer, one of her hands in his hair while the other slid under the warm henley he wore to caress his back. He gentled his kiss after a moment, leaning away from her long enough to look her in the eye.

“Hi,” she said, because the way he was looking at her was somehow more than the way he’d always looked at her and that was really saying something.

“I just want to remember this,” he said quietly, thumbing at the dimple in her chin. He leaned forward and kissed her again, slow and soft, and Emma felt her whole body melt into his.

Then his hand was under her bottom and she was off her feet again, spun around until her back hit the mattress and Killian followed her down without pulling away.

His mouth blazed a trail over the bridge of her nose, her jaw, the spot behind her ear that made her moan. It was like he was remembering and learning all the places she liked him best and Emma was absolutely not complaining. It was a little bit like he had been right - she hadn’t known him, or perhaps hadn’t known the full depth of him, because this felt somehow… more than it ever had before and there was a damned good reason she’d missed their sex life - it had been pretty incredible.

But this… hell, they hadn’t even taken their clothes off and she was ready to crawl out of her skin.

“I want to see you,” Killian muttered against her mouth, then he pulled her up on the bed so they were facing each other on their knees. He watched her eyes as he found the hem of her t-shirt and slowly dragged it up her torso, only breaking eye contact to lean down and press fervent, wet kisses to her ribs as they were revealed. Emma lifted her arms above her head and helped him pull the shirt the rest of the way off, then groaned because Killian had found her breasts and they were definitely going to be best friends from here on out.

He palmed her and kissed her and bit at her in all the right ways and she was right about this being more somehow, because she was about to come simply from the way he was worshipping her chest.

But she didn’t want to, not yet. Her hands found the hem of his Henley and she repeated his actions, pressing her mouth over his abdomen and trailing up his chest as he helped her remove the shirt completely. Her hand trailed down to the prosthetic he never wore to bed and he tensed.

She raised an eyebrow. “I want to see you,” she parrotted huskily.

He let her remove the prosthetic and set it gently on his nightstand. She cradled his left arm between her breasts and leaned in to kiss him again, those slow, soft kisses that were mending all the bruises around her heart; soon, they’d barely ache at all.

Killian’s hand began to wander again, reacquainting itself with the bare skin of her back, teasing at the band of her underwear by dipping beneath it then giving it a single, sharp snap that had her pushing her hips against his. He lowered her back to the bed and they both tugged at her underwear until she was able to kick it away. Killian pressed his mouth over her abdomen, his touch reverent as he moved over all the places she used to feel uncomfortable about - the stretch marks Henry left her with, the appendix scar that kept her from wearing bikinis for years. They were just another part of her as far as Killian was concerned.

He inhaled deeply when he reached the spot between her legs and before she could tell him she was too wound up, that she just wanted him, he was already diving in, his lips and tongue discovering and rediscovering and holy Jesus Christ how was he actually better at this than he’d been before?

Emma buried one hand in his hair and used the other to quiet the cries she wanted to let loose, biting into her palm to keep herself quiet. Poor Henry - they couldn’t traumatize him.

It was almost embarrassing how fast she came, quiet mewls smothered by her hand until Killian was suddenly there, replacing her hand with his mouth and she could taste herself on him and it was so, so hot and she was satisfied and unsatisfied at the same time and she had to get his fucking pajama pants off right now.

He reached between them for a moment to guide himself and then he was there, he was inside, and Emma gasped something between a laugh and a sob at how absurdly, ridiculously relieved she was to have him there. He smiled against her mouth, an agreement of sorts, and then his hips moved against her, both of them finding a rhythm that worked so, so well and she wanted to keep kissing him but she also wanted to suck at his neck so she did that while he kissed her shoulder and she dragged her foot up his hip until her heel was smacking against his lower back with every thrust and fuck she was gonna come again--

This time his mouth was firmly on hers to muffle her cries or maybe hers were muffling his, she wasn’t really sure because this was really, definitely the best sex they had ever, ever had and if he ever tried to withhold it from her again for some dumbass reason he made up in his head she was going to hurt him. Or maybe just tie him to the bed until he submitted. Yeah. That seemed like a more reasonable plan.

She felt like she was drifting for a moment, but came back to herself as Killian pressed fervent, arduous kisses to every inch of bare skin he could reach without disentangling their bodies. “I love you,” he muttered between kisses, so much and so often she thought that he was trying to make up for the last few weeks, when he hadn’t said it at all.

“I love you,” she whispered against the adorable curve of his ear. “Whatever’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours--”

“Is done,” he promised, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “I’ll not leave your side unless you order me away, Emma.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” she assured him. “Who else am I gonna find to fuck me like that?”

“Such a filthy mouth,” he chastised a second before he kissed her again.

….

Things were good. Like, really good. Like, better than even her best memory. It was like something clicked for them and the whole world realigned itself to a new world order. Killian was back to being her attentive, outrageously flirtatious husband, except he was also softer than she remembered him being, more vulnerable. It’s like he was determined to lay himself bare for her, almost daring her to find him wanting.

As if. Emma felt a little bit like she’d won the lottery or like she was in the middle of the best dream ever, the kind you never wanted to wake up from because nothing in reality could possibly feel this good.

Henry and Killian had long gotten back on the even keel they’d had before - except their relationship, too, seemed just a little bit more than Emma remembered, Killian more attuned to Henry’s moods, more eager to make sure he was safe - sometimes to the annoyance of the boy himself. The way he watched over her (their, really) little boy made Emma love him even more.

They were stretched out on the couch, legs tangled as they both worked on their laptops at opposite ends. Emma’s ringtone for Henry startled them both, lulled by the quiet clacking of their keyboards.

Her little boy’s voice was tiny and heartbroken as she leaned her head next to Killian’s so they could both hear.

“Can you guys come get me?”

He was at the police station. Emma had made fast friends with the cops who worked the evening shift, having brought in enough skips to them in the short few months they’d been in Boston to endear herself to the lot of them. Popping for a giant box of donuts a few times didn’t hurt. So Officer Miles made sure the boys were kept in an unused office rather than anywhere too scary.

Henry looked defiant and ashamed at the same time. Emma took care of the paperwork - thanking Officer Miles profusely for keeping this off their permanent record - and frowned when Adam’s parents showed up, smacking the boy on the back of his head and calling him an idiot, a juvenile delinquent. They didn’t even ask what had happened. Emma watched Killian cup the back of Henry’s head protectively, as if the punishment being doled out to his partner in crime could somehow be contagious.

“I imagine they were just being young boys,” Killian said when Adam’s parents paused long enough to let someone else get a word in. “I’m sure they won’t do anything like this again.”

Killian didn’t know what they’d done either. But he knew Henry, knew him like Emma did and despite everything, Henry had called them. The boys didn’t have identification and probably could have caused the police no end of frustration by refusing to identify themselves, but Henry had called them within five minutes of arriving at the station.

It turned out Adam had the idea to break into the aquarium and take selfies in front of the sharks. Killian reminded Henry that no successful crime hinged on taking incriminating photographs and Henry seemed to sigh in disappointment at his own foolishness. Emma broke the news that trips to the police station meant he was grounded for a month, no video games and no Adam. Henry protested the last, explaining that he was Adam’s only real friend and he couldn’t just abandon him.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look, having seen the sort of treatment Adam got from his parents. They conceded that Henry and Adam could see one another to study -- only to study -- provided Adam got permission from his parents to do so at their apartment.

To no one’s surprise, Adam’s parents agreed easily and Adam spent most of the next week practically sleeping over at the apartment. He took meals with the family, finished his homework promptly and delighted in the astronomy lessons Killian gave both boys. Emma felt proud of Henry, because the boy they’d considered a bad influence (which… well, he was) had actually been someone in need of a hero.

Adam was returned to his own home for Christmas Eve with promises to have him over for Boxing Day, a holiday Killian assured him was actually a much better meal than the one served at Christmas. Henry’s grounding was officially lifted for the holiday and they exchanged presents - besides the usual socks and sweaters and video games, Emma and Henry got Killian a keyboard that would attach to his laptop that was supposed to be easier to use with one hand. Emma knew his prosthetic grew painful after extended wear and Killian liked to write later into the night than was entirely comfortable. Henry unwrapped the new gaming console he’d spent weeks hinting at and Emma got two gifts from her boys: the first, a cheesy ornament for the tree that said “First Christmas in Boston” with a spot for a photograph they’d snapped on one of their family nights, the three of them sporting equally cheesy grins over a failed game of Twister. The second was a ring on a chain.

“It belonged to the best man I know - my brother, Liam,” Killian said softly. “I’ve always thought it brought me luck, protected me, and there’s no one I’d rather it keep from harm.” He draped the chain over her neck and Emma settled it against her sweater.

“Merry Christmas,” Emma whispered as Henry, tired of the mushy stuff, eagerly went to hook up his new console.

“Happy Christmas, luv,” Killian whispered back.

....

Life went on from there. Their first few weeks in Boston faded into the tapestry of the rest of their lives together - Emma remembered it, when she rarely thought of it, as Killian’s weird self esteem mysterious freak out.

Henry graduated fifth grade and they flew to Florida to celebrate his eleventh birthday at Disney World. Adam came with them and the two boys kept each other busy and tired enough that Emma and Killian managed a few quiet moments amidst the wonderful chaos.

Killian finished his book (hence the splurgey birthday trip to Disney World) and his publishers flipped over how much they loved it. They said the realism he’d given his fanciful characters outdid anything he’d produced before and they were going to give the book a big holiday push.

Emma managed to avoid injury during every skip she chased. She pretended it was just a matter of time, but she secretly believed what Killian did - that Liam’s ring was keeping her safe.

Once Henry started sixth grade, Emma felt settled in a way she couldn’t explain. She and Killian were curled together in bed, her favorite pillow breathing deeply under her cheek. His fingers were trailing up and down her spine and if she hadn’t been so recently satiated she probably would have crawled on top of him.

“Do you, um… do you ever think about what it would be like if we had another kid?” she asked.

His fingers paused their idle stroking briefly before resuming. “I thought that’s what we were calling Adam?”

“Har har,” she muttered, poking him in the ribs. Then she went back to running her fingers through his chest hair, tracing random patterns so she could ignore how genuinely worried she was for his response. “I mean, a kid that looked a little like me and a little like you.”

“I’ve often thought of giving Henry a little brother or a little sister,” he confided. “If there was ever a boy born to be someone’s big brother, it’s our Henry.”

Emma felt this strange sense of calmness settle within her. “So… I guess I could stop taking my pill.”

“I guess you could,” Killian agreed softly.

The next day, she dumped her pills in the garbage.

….

The day after that, as Killian was making breakfast and Henry was watering their plants, Emma answered a knock at the door.

“Hi.” A petite woman with curly blonde hair pulled into a messy bun stood on the other side. “I know this is going to sound really, really crazy and you have no idea who I am, but um… something’s happened. Your family needs you.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “My family is right here.”

“I don’t just mean Henry. I mean… your parents.”

“Okay, we’re done.” Emma went to slam the door in the woman’s face, but before she could connect, Killian’s hand covered the side of the door, pulling it back.

“Tink,” he breathed.

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Hook. You… you know me?”

It was then that Emma saw that look in his eyes, the one she hadn’t seen since they’d first come to Boston. The guilt. The shame. As if he’d stolen something that didn’t belong to him.

“Aye, luv,” he said as if every word was painful. “You’d best come inside.” He looked at Emma then, some endlessly sad apology in his eyes. “We’ve much to discuss.”

[thejacketandthehook]

Before Dawn 5/?

Title: Before Dawn

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary:  Emma Swan and Killian Jones only had one thing in common: Emma’s best friend and Killian’s brother were dating. But Emma and Killian could not get along. That was, until the day they had to work together through a tragedy that no one saw coming.

Rating: General (but that will change to Mature in later chapters)

Word Count: 17,631

Disclaimers: I own absolutely nothing.

Author’s Notes:  So, I’ve been in the mist of writing this particular story for almost two years. And I’m hoping that if I have support, I’ll be more motivated to finish it. So my story is based off of the movie “Life As We Know It” starring Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel. And below is the first chapter. I hope you enjoy.

You can also read it here: A03

@searchingwardrobes

Living with a baby brought on challenges that neither of them expected. Almost a month and a half after Elsa and Liam's death, and Killian and Emma still had no idea what in hell they were doing.

True they made their schedule, and they stuck to that. Emma was free Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday nights and Killian was free Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday nights. Thursdays were their night to both be with Henry.

But even with nights off, they were more exhausted than either had ever felt in a long time. Henry was getting better at sleeping during the night, but those occasions when he just won't go to sleep were the nights that Killian and Emma both wondered what they got themselves into. They tried everything, from long car rides (where Emma would continually nod off, even when Killian, who was driving, was practically shaking her awake) to soft music to singing lullabies to just walking around with him. Once, when they were really desperate, they called Mary Margaret, since she was up to date on all the baby tricks. God bless her, she came over and helped them settle Henry in. (Emma got her a foot massager the next day at the store, as a thank you).

Part of the problem, at least for Emma, was that this wasn't her home. Even though they had both been living there for some time, Emma had no idea where Elsa or Liam kept half of their stuff. And she felt weird taking down their pictures, or moving their furniture. She couldn't feel like she could actually settle herself in because this wasn't (and probably would never be) her home.

And that didn't helped Emma feel better.

~*~

Almost two months in their arrangement, Killian asked if he could have friends over. Emma didn't care, as long as they didn't make too much noise so Henry could sleep. What she wasn't expecting was a man, woman, and a small child appearing at their door one Thursday night.

"Emma, this is my best friend Robin Locksley and his wife Regina. Oh, this here is their son, Roland. Hey mate!"

Emma smiled politely at Robin and Regina welcoming them to the house. Killian, meanwhile, got down on his knees and hugged the little three year old before picking him up and carrying him in.

Still holding Roland, Killian sat down on the couch as Henry poked up from his playpen.

"And this is Henry," Emma said, going over to the playpen and picking the baby up. Regina and Robin made all the right cooing noises, getting a small, shy smile out of Henry before he looked away, burying his head in Emma's hair.

"He's adorable," Regina smiled before looking over at Killian. "I think he looks like Liam."

"See, I see more of Elsa in him," Robin said before sitting on the opposite couch, pulling Regina down with him.

"He's a good mix, I think," Killian replied, bouncing a laughing Roland on his knees. "He's certainly has my brother's lungs. Especially at two in the morning."

"Now how does that work?" Regina asked as Emma went to sit next to Killian. Though they were sitting at least a foot apart, once the boys saw each other, Henry started fidgeting in Emma's arms, wanting to meet the other boy. "Do you trade off on who's going to get Henry, or do you decide before you go to bed?"

Emma was trying to hold onto Henry, but he was starting to fuss, wanting to be let go so he can go play. She put him down on the ground and Killian let go of Roland, who insisted that he wanted to play with the baby.

"Oh, er, we just decide when we get to the bedroom," Emma replied as she sat back up, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Maybe we should make a schedule or something."

"Our whole life is a schedule now," Emma muttered.

"It's not a bad idea."

Emma sighed. Her whole life was on that bloody calendar and she hated it. Hated that she couldn't go out, simply because she wanted to. It's not like she hated Henry, or resented him. She could never do that. But she hated the fact that her life now had to be written down and approved before she could leave the house for the evening.

It has been close to two months by the time Robin and his family stopped by to see Killian. And while she and Killian weren't at each other necks anymore, there was still a "coldness" about them, something he liked to point out from time to time. She didn't know what exactly he was looking for. A wife? A sympathetic ear? She was none of those things. And if she was going to choose anything first, it would be mother. Henry was her priority now, no matter what else was going on in her life.

After a half hour of listening to Killian, Robin, and Regina talking about people she didn't know or situations that didn't include her, she got up and muttered about making coffee. She practically ran towards the kitchen and sat at the table.

Emma was running her fingers through her hair before rubbing them over her face. She let out a breath before she heard, "Roland's not mine."

Popping her head up, Emma looked over to see Regina standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed. She looked so professional in her black pantsuit and high heels, Emma briefly wondered if the woman even owned a pair of jeans.

"I'm sorry?"

"Roland. He's not my son. He's my stepson," Regina clarified before walking further into the room. She leaned on the counter opposite the table Emma was sitting at. "Killian introduced us as though he's my son. Though I consider him to be my son and don't usually correct people, I feel I should. With you."

"Why?"

Regina shrugged. "Maybe to give you someone to talk to. Getting a child when you weren't completely ready is a major task, no matter how glamorous movies make it look. It's like taking on a job 24/7. One where you need to read all the manuals, and yet you didn't."

Emma looked down at all the baby books she found in the house. They were piled neatly on the table (thanks to the neat-freak that is Killian). "Those books are shit," Emma muttered.

Regina chuckled. "Yes, they are. Like all jobs, they can't prepare you for everything. Most of the time, you're making it up as you go along."

"How old was Roland? When you married his dad?"

Tilting her head up, Regina thought about it for a moment. "Well, when I married Robin, Roland was just over two. But when we started dating, Roland was a little younger than Henry. Granted I wasn't living in the same house as them, but there were dates where Roland joined us. At first I was terrified. I mean, look at me," she gestured to her outfit. "Do I look like the type of person who gets down on the floor and play cars? Kids were great, as long as they were someone else's, you know?" Though it was rhetorical, Emma nodded. "But, things were getting pretty serious between Robin and I. We started talking about the future. Together. And suddenly, there was a kid in my life. And I had to make a decision: should I give up Robin--whom I love with all my heart--and have freedom, or except the fact that if I married Robin, I was also going to become a mother in the same day? Well," she cocked her head to the side, "you can guess which one I chose."

"Yeah, but you had choice. Killian and I didn't. You had a choice of whether or not you want to be with the man you love, with his child! I didn't. Do you know what I was doing when I got the phone call that changed my life? I was having dinner with my boyfriend. And the night was going so wonderfully. And then I got a phone call from Anna and it was...Everything changed. I went from a small apartment where I was lucky if I had milk and bread in the fridge to this!" She gestured to the house, her life, in general. "To living in my best friend's house with her brother-in-law, whom up until a few months ago, I could barely stand. To having a kid. I'm not this kid's mother, but I might as well be! At this point in time, he probably thinks I am his mother! So you can try to understand me, but you don't!" Emma pushed her chair back so hard, it scraped the floor. In some distance part of her mind, she knew Killian would give her hell for that later. Without another word, Emma ran out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom.

Killian and Robin walked in, both holding a child. "What's going on?" Killian looked over at the staircase that Emma just ran up before looking over at Regina. He was bouncing Henry, but his eyebrows were knitted together and he bit his lip, a sure sign that he was concerned.

Regina placed both hands on her hips before turning slowly to the men. "I was trying to make Emma feel better. Obviously, I failed." She pushing back some of her hair before sighing deeply.

Killian looked at Regina before saying, "She's just a bit emotional right now. We both are. We're trying to get used to this life now. Don't take it personally. She snaps at me every chance she gets."

"She's right though," Regina commented. "You two...your lives changed so dramatically in short amount of time."

"Maybe what you need, what you both need, is to get away for a while," Robin suggested. Killian and Regina both looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Well, I don't mean together, unless you want to. But like Regina said, you were both thrown into this and it's complicated and it's frustrating and it's not easy. Maybe a long weekend away from Henry and from each other might make everything a little bit better. Come back renewed or something."

"Maybe you're right," Killian agreed. "Some time away might help."

"We can watch Henry," Regina suggested.

"Of course we can. Just make sure you check with us before you guys go."

"Well, if we're taking separate vacations, which would most likely happen, then we wouldn't need babysitters. But yeah, I'll talk to Emma. See what she thinks."

~*~    

           Unsurprisingly, when Killian first brought up the idea of each of them going on a small vacation for a couple of days, Emma turned it down.

"Absolutely not," she said as she picked up a toddering Henry who has lately become fascinated with Emma's pocketbook and often could be found either dragging it on the ground or going through it. Emma has since learned that Henry cannot really work zippers yet, though she still takes out any pills or her wallet when she gets home. Or she puts her purse in the closet all together. "We've only been with him two months, and we need a break from him? How stupid is that?"

"Ba-ba," Henry chimed in.

"See?" she said, using her hand that wasn't holding Henry to gesture to the baby in her arms. "Even he agrees with me."

"It's not that bad of an idea when you think about it. Or is this one of those, I'm-gonna-hate-the-idea-because-Killian-suggested-it type of thing?"

She sighed before she placed Henry in his playpen. "Killian, this is important to me..."

"What? You think taking care of Henry is not important to me?!" he flared.

"No, of course not. Of course it's important to you too. But--"

"How many times have you seen Walsh? Since this all started I mean."

She shifted her feet and looked down before looking back up and crossing her arms. Uncertain to defensive in two point three seconds. That has to be a new record, even for her. "What do you care?"

He crossed his arms too and said, "I'm asking because if I was Walsh, I would want to spend some time with you."

"Things have been difficult here, and you know it. We're still trying to adjust. Killian, a child was dropped into our lives when we least expected it--"

Killian point a finger at her. "And that's why we both need a vacation." Dropping his hand, he continued. "Emma, people who are expecting children have time to plan everything out. They can figure out how to get the house ready and read up on all of those books and...They have time. Nine months, years, whatever. The point is, we went from both being two adults with little responsibilities to bam! Parents! And yeah, our friends have been supportive and Mary Margaret deserves a bloody award for all the times she has come over to help. But at the end of the day, it's the two of us. This is our life now, for better or for worse."

She bit her lip and her fingers fiddled with the top of the chair. He could tell she was thinking it over, seeing how right he was. He knew that he, for once, was winning the argument.

She sighed. "Fine. For, like three days at most."

He smiled. It was nice to finally have a victory. "Of course. Just to clear our heads a bit, that's all."

~*~

They flipped a coin on who would go first. Killian won. He planned a three day trip to Atlantic City, with a two friends from University.

("You have friends besides Robin?"

"Shut up.")

A few hours after he had left Emma and Henry was when the anxiety kicked in. Not anxiety, exactly, more like....He was continually concerned. He kept checking his phone, making sure that Henry was alright. His friends, Will Scarlet and William Smee, were both getting bored with his behavior. The three of them, back in University, were known as the Three Musketeers. Even Robin would shake his head when he saw the three of them in action, and Robin didn't exactly have the best track record. But now, there was Killian, having to leave the casino because he wasn't getting good reception, and "I just need to make sure Emma doesn't need me."

"Wha 'ould ya do if she did?" asked Will, shaking his head. "Gonna get some pixie dust and fly home?"

"Don't be ridiculous. She hasn't been alone with Henry in a while. I just...I want to make sure he's okay."

Smee shook his head. "I think our Captain is getting whipped."

"'nd over a woman too!" Will smirked. "Or is he gonna keep saying it's baby 'Enry."

The long weekend didn't go exactly as he had planned. It was a good thing he had unlimited text messaging, because he's pretty sure he messaged Emma almost every hour.

Emma had messaged him after he asked for probably the hundredth time if everything was okay. If there's a problem I'll let you know. Have some faith in me.

It wasn't that he didn't have faith in her, which actually made that the scariest part. He had complete faith in her. It was more like...He just needed to make sure everything was okay. That neither Emma or Henry had fallen through a portal or that an Earthquake didn't tear apart the house or that they weren't abducted or anything. He was confident that Emma would be okay. It was the rest of the world toward Emma and Henry that made him nervous.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled up to Liam's house and saw that it was indeed still standing. Emma's yellow bug was parked out front and he smiled at the sight of it.

Emma, however, was convinced that she would be more relaxed on her short vacation than he was. However, just like with Killian, Emma got antsy and needed to know exactly what Henry was doing at all times. She even had a nightmare that Henry stopped breathing and before she thought better of it, called Killian at one o'clock in the morning. (Neither Killian, nor Walsh who took her to Cape Cod, were happy about that).

Walsh even took Emma to the beach. Since it was the start of September, it was just warm enough to actually enjoy the cool water and sandy shores. That didn't stop Emma from continually checking her phone.

"Emma, the point of this vacation was to stop worrying about Henry. Now, put down the phone and come join me."

"I will, I will. Killian is gonna message me when..."

"Killian is a grown man who can take care of a child for seventy-two hours. Less than that now. I'm sure they are both fine."

"But this isn't like him to not message back. Maybe I need better signal."

Before he could say a word, Emma got up and walked back towards the car.

She too took a sigh of relief when she saw the house. And a bigger one when she was holding a perfectly safe Henry in her arms.

The vacations, all in all, weren't necessarily a bad idea. Both Killian and Emma did enjoy themselves for the few hours here and there that they actually let themselves relax. But they both realized that at this point in time, neither of them were willing to let go of Henry, even if it helped in their own sanity.

~*~

"I've been dying to go see a play, but I can't get comfortable sitting for long periods of time." Mary Margaret shifted in her seat, ready to pop at any moment. Emma half expected to see David running around with a bag, waiting for her drop the baby that is due any day.

"Oh, I love plays. Tragedies are my favorite," Regina commented from her seat. "Can really understand the human emotions, you know."

Emma, Killian, David, Mary Margaret, Regina, and Robin were sitting on the back porch of Liam and Elsa's house (Emma still refused to acknowledge it as her house). Henry was playing with a few toys on the grassy area as Roland sat by the adults with an iPad on his lap. Neither Emma nor Killian planned on hosting a BBQ; it just sort of happened. Killian was trying to figure out how to work the barbeque itself when David's head appeared over the backyard fence. He nicely asked if he could come over to look at it, and he appeared a few minutes later with Mary Margaret, who apparently was dying to get out of the house for a little while. Robin (along with Regina and Roland) had come over to give Killian...something, Emma didn't really know what, when he noticed that neither Killian nor David could get the barbeque working. Suddenly they were hosting a barbeque, and Emma was biting her lip wondering if they had enough food.

"Why see a tragedy when comedy is so much better?" David asked before looking over at Killian. "Wait, no, that goes over there I think. Where are the instructions?"

"I don't bloody know," Killian cursed. Emma bit her lip, trying not to laugh, but it was truly a battle. She had never seen him so ruffled, and it was amusing to watch. His usually combed black hair was all standing up, thanks to him continually running his fingers through it. Instead of rolling her eyes, as she would have done only a month earlier, she was instead trying so hard not to laugh.

She walked over to the three of them, all crouched down looking at all the different levers. "Swan," Killian said when he noticed her. "Take a look. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes is what we need."

Emma got down as well and looked around. "Did you guy try turning the propane on? Remember, this is an old grill." Silence. She smirked. "That'd be a no." She leaned over Killian and turned the gas on. Within minutes, there was a nice fire going.

"Thanks Swan," Killian muttered as he got the hamburgers set out.

David was leaning against the low brick wall, a beer in hand, when he said, "I don't think I know the story of how you two met." Emma looked over and realized he was talking to them.

"Oh, us!" Emma gave a small laugh. She and Killian looked at each other and smirked before Emma looked back. "We met through my best friend."

"And my brother."

"They set us up."

"It must have went well, I take it."

Emma and Killian both laughed. David looked at his wife, who must have known their story, since she shook her head with a small smile.

"Oh, no, it was terrible, mate. Just got through one date before we called it quits."

"It was only up to a month ago that we could actually look at each other. We didn't like the other for a long time."

"Speak for yourself," Killian interjected. while flipping the hamburgers. "I quite fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me."

Emma hoped her face didn't blush, even though she could certainly feel it burning. Ignoring his slight flirtation, she retorted, "I'm always yelling at you."

"Hence why I said 'time to time,'" he smirked.

"But--" David looked at Henry who was nibbling on one of his toys. "You're raising Henry together. If you two couldn't get along, then why--?"

"That's a question we are both wondering, mate."

"Elsa and Liam made us Henry's legal guardians. They never told us why."

"They never told us, period."

David shook his head before muttering something Emma couldn't catch as he walked over to his wife and rubbed her stomach.

"You know what I love," Mary Margaret said later, when everyone had a plate of food. They had just enough for everyone enjoy either a hot dog or a hamburger. Luckily, the kids didn't eat that much, though Henry really liked the hot dogs. "Musicals. I love musicals."

"Yes! Classics like The Music Man!" Robin added. "Can't go wrong."

"Even newer ones, like Wicked and Hamilton are breathtaking."

"You've seen Hamilton?" Emma asked Mary Margaret.

"Well, no, of course not. But I've heard good things. I did see Wicked on Broadway. And David has seen The Lion King."

"Liam and I saw Mary Poppins with my ex-wife," Killian added.  "She loved that nanny."

"Oh, Annie! I love Annie!" Mary Margaret added.

"I don't like that one," Emma muttered.

"Annie?" Regina asked, her eyebrow raising. "You don't like Annie? What's not to like? There's singing, there's dancing, there's happy ending. It's a musical, for God's sake!"

Emma moved her shoulders, almost hunching them in, as though armor from Regina's words. However, just like the sharpest knife, it pierces right through and got her where she's the weakest.

Trying not to sound too defensive (and probably missing by a mile), Emma simply stated, "I don't like Annie."

She doesn't notice Regina giving Robin an odd look, like she can't quite believe her ears. Emma didn't notice Killian leaning over, trying to look at her. She didn't see Mary Margaret and David giving each other looks. She only saw her food, trying with all of her might to block out the song Tomorrow that suddenly popped into her head.

Later, once everyone had left and Henry was put down for the night, Killian found Emma gulping down a glass of wine.

She tried to ignore him, but when he leaned on the doorframe and crossed his ankles, his body language pretty much told her he was going to say something.

"So, what's wrong with Annie?"

"God, it is a crime to hate a musical?!"

"No, of course not," he replied softly. They were silent. Emma put her empty glass in the sink and the leaned her two hands on it, head bending down. When he spoke again, it was still soft. "It's because she's an orphan, isn't it?"

She didn't reply. Then she, just as softly, quoted, "'No one cares for you, a smidge, when you're in an orphanage.'"

He sighed. He didn't say anything, and if he was giving her any kind of a look, she didn't see it. She was still staring down into the sink, watching excess water falling into the drain.

"I didn't even have that." She didn't know why she was telling him this. Emma preferred keeping things to herself, not letting anyone know her weaknesses. But with Killian...

Maybe it was because they lived together. Maybe because when you start raising a child together, it just brings people closer. Or maybe it was because he got her at a valuable moment. She didn't know why she was suddenly telling him about how awful the foster care was and that she would die herself before she let Henry get put into the system.

"Annie...it just reminds me of that time of my life. A time where..."

"Where no one cared for you." He wasn't asking a question. He knew that's what she was talking about.

She shook her head.

She heard rather than saw him move. Suddenly he was wrapping his arms around her and all she could smell was the aroma of food still on his clothes. She wanted to push him away, but for a moment she let herself be weak. Just for one moment. Then she pushed him away, telling him that she didn't want his pity.

"It's not pity," he informed her.

"Of course it is. People always pity me once they learn my back story. No mother. No father. No one ever wanted Emma Swan. And that's fine, I don't need anyone--"

"Well, that's a lie."

"It's not!" Now she was being defensive "I don't!"

"You do, Emma, and that's not a crime. It's okay to feel weak."

"I can't. Besides, you'll just show pity again, and I can't-"

"I don't pity you. I know what you're talking about."

She scoffed. "People always say that, and they don't know. They can't possibly know what it feels like to be unwanted by the people who made you!"

"But I do!" It was the first time in their conversation that he raised his voice. "Emma, I know."

When she looked up at him, she didn't see pity staring back at her. No, she saw the same look that had haunted her mirror for years, before she met Elsa. That look of being lost.

"Liam and Killian's father abandoned them. I told you that. Didn't I?"

It had clicked, a few minutes too late. Elsa had told her that, during Henry's party, Emma thinks. Elsa told her that Killian and Liam, that they were unwanted. Unloved. By the very person who was suppose to protect them.

"My mother died when I was born," Killian continued with no prompting. She wasn't sure if he saw the recognition in her eyes, or if he was just trying to inform her of his past. "And my father...he didn't take it too well. Fell into a depression. Started drinking and gambling. And when I was seven, I woke up one morning and he was...He was gone. He just left Liam and I on our own, trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do.

"The only difference between us, Emma, is that I had Liam. Otherwise...I know exactly how it feels to be betrayed by those who are supposed to love you."

Emma opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. She knew that he was abandoned, knew it in the back of her mind. Yet, unlike her, he never seemed to bring it up. Emma let it consume her, made her grow thick skin and to push away any one who dared to come close to her. But Killian...He was pretty much the same boat as her. He was abandoned as a child and has lost the closest thing to family. When he said he knew exactly how she felt, he wasn't kidding. The details of their story may be different, but the overall theme was the same:

They were both, for lack of a better term, lost children.

However, unlike her, he never let his past define his future. He didn't push people away. Hell, he got married! Emma could barely keep a relationship for a year, and Killian practically told someone he wanted to spend his whole life with them! (The fact that it didn't work out was preside the point. He tried). He knew, from their meeting in front of the lawyers office, that she was abandoned. What did he say to her? That he saw how defensive she got when the lawyer suggested taking Henry to a foster house. He knew it, saw it. She could barely see past her own grief to notice that he was grieving too.

At a loss for something to say, which was very unlike her and kind of shook her a bit, she just looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," she said. What she was sorry for, whether it was the death of his family members, being abandoned, or anything she had said or done to hurt him, she wasn't sure.

He gave a tiny grin. "I don't want your pity." She gave a small smile in return before looking up fully. He held out his hand, ready to shake hers. "How about we start over?"

She looked at his hand before saying, "No." He lowered his hand, his face falling. "No, we shouldn't start over. We should just turn over a new leaf. Not start over, exactly, but just understand that we both...We can help each other if we just let the other one in."

She saw him bit his lip, like he wanted to say something, but knew better. She kind of wanted to know what he was going to say, but before she could ask, he continued. "I'd like that." He went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. Cracking them both open, he gave her one before holding up the other one. "To new leaves!"

She clicked the bottles. "To new leaves!"

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 1

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 3731

Chapter: 1/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Prince Simon of Watford hates being a prince. He would rather be with his friends than try to learn tax policy. While adventuring in the scary woods with Penelope, Simon finds a strange boy who somehow transforms from a swan into a human when he sits on a lake. Simon immediately becomes fascinated with the boy and his mysterious existence. And as he learns more, Simon's feelings start to deepen. But when the stakes get higher, can those feelings triumph over their struggles?

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AN: Hello everyone, and welcome to my big bang! It's super long, I spent hours trying to fix stuff that I'm still not 100% on, and I'm very happy I actually did it. And I really do like it, I'm just way too critical of myself. I wrote this because A) I love fantasy AUs, B) I love the Swan Lake ballet, and C) I love the webcomic based on Swan Lake “The Prince and The Swan” by April Pierce which I recommend you all read it's awesome. So this an AU based off both the ballet and the comic. I'm posting the first two chapters today cause I feel like them together is a good start to the story. I'll be posting every monday and every other Thursday. 

Shoutout to my artist @bookerella who made amazing art for this fic. I’ll be linking her piece for this chapter at the end. And another shoutout as always to @carryonmylovelies because she has been my rock for the past five months through writing this fic and along with a lot of other struggles. She's the best and I love her with all my heart. And after all that, please enjoy the first two chapters of The Black Swan. Hope y'all like it :)

———————————————

Burning, everything was burning

The whole world was engulfed in flames and reeked of smoke. Simon didn’t know where he was. Only that this body wasn’t his. The arms were small, pudgy, that of a young boy. But he felt the muscles move and the skin heat up with the flames.  They licked at him but didn’t touch, bending away before contact.

“Darling, where are you?!” a woman’s voice yelled, followed by an ear piercing scream.

Simon started running immediately. He didn’t know why, just that he had to go. He ran past the creaking wood, the scorched stone, looking for where the voice was coming from. Consciously, he didn’t know who it was, but he knew he had to get to her. A burning beam nearly crushed his head, but he kept going. He needed to get to her.

“Mum!” His voice shouted. It wasn’t his though, yet it came from his mouth. Rather, it was a child’s voice, desperate and afraid. Simon could feel tears streaming down the boy’s face, created from smoke and fear.

“Where is she?” Simon asked himself from the boy’s mouth.

Another scream rang out. Simon started running again. He couldn’t see. There was too much debris and smoke and fire to find anything. But he reached her room eventually, using all his short might to force the doors open. The boy’s mum was standing right in the centre of a ring of fire. Her grey gown was in charred shreds, hair obscuring most of her soot covered face. A thick arm was wound around her neck. She was struggling to breath, from smoke and the person choking her.

“Mum!” he shouted with voice that wasn’t his again. “Stop hurting her!”

“Run,” she rasped out. The person with the thick arm looked at him. His eyes were piercing blue, filled with a killer’s rage. The boy backed up slowly. “Run!”

And so he ran. He was running as far as his little legs could carry him, ducking and weaving through the burning debris. She told him to run. So he would, he would do whatever she said. Run, run, run-

“Not so fast, brat.” The man grabbed his small fancy collar so hard he choked. His voice was smooth, confident, completely sure of his own power. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got other plans for you.

He tried to scream, but the man’s grip was too tight for speech. The burning world slowly turned black.

———————————————

“Simon. Simon. Simon!”

Simon jolted awake so hard his head smacked against his wooden chair. He whined as he rubbed the sore spot. King David stood over him from the other side of the desk. He had his hands on his hips, glaring at his adopted son with extreme disapprovement.

“Yes?” Simon grumbled.

“Were you sleeping when you were supposed to be studying battle techniques?” David asked in a way that meant he knew the answer.

“N-No,” the prince lied with a shaky voice. David kept glaring, and Simon sighed. “I’m just tired from studying, Father, sorry.”

David shook his head, crown shifting on his brown curls. “I’m disappointed, Simon. You’ve been the crown prince full time for a year now, you should know how to cope. I brought you here to be my heir. The least you can do is try.”

Simon picked at his nails, a nervous habit he still hadn’t broken over the years. Another thing David was disappointed in. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Words are meaningless, Simon. Do better. Now come along, we have a council meeting.”

Simon had to suppress a groan. He hated council meetings. They were always so boring. They made him really want to find the executioner so he could be put out of his misery.

He did up his embroidered tunic properly and put the gold circlet back on his head anyway. He wanted all these damn things off so bad. The circlet always got too hot and made his forehead sweat. And the formal attire was so damn itchy. Simon was never comfortable when he dressed like a prince. Even years later, he still wondered if David made a mistake, picking him to be his heir.

David pushed open the council room doors with flourish, green cloak flapping behind him. He always did it so much with flourish, always making a grand scene when he greeted the council. Penny would roll her eyes.

“All rise,” Sir Premal announced, “for his majesty, King David Owens of Watford. And for his royal highness, Crown Prince Simon Owens of Watford.”

The lords stood, hands clasped in front of them respectfully. They all look bored, as usual. Nobility weren’t allowed to enjoy themselves. Simon was pretty sure it was written in the Constitution of Watford Kingdom. Though some of their eyes flicked to Simon and narrowed. He could feel the contempt and snobbery radiating off them. He knew what some of them thought of him deep down; just a lowly orphan painted up to impersonate a prince. Simon couldn’t disagree. A lot of the time, he felt like that too.

David stood at the head with Simon right beside him on a smaller chair. Everyone’s chairs had to be smaller than David’s.

“Be seated,” the king said. All the hardwood scraped on the stone simultaneously. Simon desperately wanted to slump further, but he knew David would yell at him later. It wasn’t worth the ear ache.

The King opened his large leather bound ledger. He kept meticulous finance records. Many would say he was obsessive. And many would be correct. “Now, the tax increases have been fully implemented. Have you all of you have been collecting well?”

His tone made it incredibly clear that this was a question with specific answers. David’s questions always came with specific answers. The lords shifted minutely, the closest they’d ever come to protest, and replied with a monotone “yes” as they handed their bags of collected gold pieces. Not Lord Grimm though. He merely pushed down his burlap sack while staring straight ahead. He rarely spoke during these meetings. Simon assumed it was because David took his late wife’s throne, the same throne that was originally meant to be passed down to his late son but was now going to Simon. Simon couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t like being constantly reminded of his family’s demise either. Maybe not talking made it easier.

“Good,” David said as he checked off every province. “Any disturbances from the people?”

“No,” the speaking lords replied.

“Wonderful.” David snapped his ledger closed. “Now, there’s the matter of the old Hampshire property. It’s fallen into complete disrepair over the past few years, what with Lady Fiona moving and no one else living there. I suggest we demolish it for building materials. The new castle extension needs stone. Any protests?”

No one spoke up, because David’s cold expression told them not to. Not even Lord Grimm said anything, which Simon found surprising. Hampshire was the oldest Pitch family property. They owned it before becoming the royal family. But he said nothing. Just stared ahead with a bored expression. Simon still instinctively shied away though. Lord Malcolm Grimm always looked like a white haired pit viper, calm most of the time but definitely could kill you in an instant. But today was a good day, because Malcolm simply looked at King David, and nodded.

David nodded back. “Good. Lord Grimm, please alert Lady Pitch of this. Are there any other matters we need to discuss?” All the lords stayed silent in response. ”Very well. You’re all dimissised. Farewell, your lordships.”

“Farewell, your majesty,” the speaking lords said.

What was the point of this? Simon thought. Less than five minutes so the King could take money from the rich people and announce he was destroying a historic building. Penelope said most of these meetings were just so David could flex his power. Simon liked to believe there was something more, but he had to admit she had a point. She was usually right.

As he and Simon were exiting, Malcolm put a hand on David’s shoulder. Simon stiffened. It wasn’t appropriate to touch a king. He remembered the day David first brought him to the castle. His new father had slapped him away when he tugged on his royal sleeve. “You ask permission to touch a king, Simon. Remember that,” he’d said. Simon had always kept to that rule, along with everyone else. Yet David didn’t look upset at Lord Grimm’s discretion. His eyes justs slid over to the side.

“Excuse my boldness,” Lord Grimm said smoothly, “but I have something to discuss with you, your majesty.” His cold brown eyes shifted to Simon. Simon tried not to gulp. “In private.”

Simon looked to his father. David nodded. “Go, Simon. I give you leave for the day.”

The prince grinned ear to ear. “Really?”

“Did I not just say so? Return by supper.”

“Yes, yes, Father, I will.” Simon was already going towards the exit as he spoke.

“Close the door on your way out.” David didn’t say please, because, “kings are above politeness, Simon.”

Simon nodded. “Yes, Father.”

As he was closing the door, Simon heard snippets of their extremely hushed conversation. Malcolm looked serious, David looked unamused.

“Insult...too long...,” Malcolm muttered.

“Very well...remember...know your place,” David replied.

Simon was too excited to leave to care for stupid royal dealings. He shut the door and immediately raced down the carpeted hallway. Past the dirty high ceilings and confining stone walls. Even though this castle was only a little over a decade years old, it had the fashions of somewhere old. David wanted it to look ancient, to make it look like his royal line was just as old as the Pitches were. Penny told Simon it was about ego or power or something. Simon didn’t care. He just wanted to leave it right now.

The second he reached his room, Simon stripped off his tunic, making his circlet hit the stone with a tink. He hopped around trying to get his pants off and nearly fell face first on the floor. That would be rich, Simon thought, a crown prince with a broken nose caused by his own inability to get out of his trousers. What a great future king I am, huh David?

Simon put on his loose white shirt and filthy riding pants. He wrapped an old scarf around his head, attempting to hide his distinctive bronze curls under the grey fabric. It wouldn’t stop everyone from noticing him of course, but it would stop enough. Enough that he could get to one particular place.

As the reluctant crown prince and graduated student of The Mage School, which sat just to the north of the castle, Simon had enough practice getting from royal property to the town quickly. He used the hidden passageways, weaving through the corridors with ease, greeting every servant by name as he passed by. He ended up in the kitchen, where Cook Pritchard was already preparing for supper.

“Hello, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said, hanging over her counter. “How’s the kitchen?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” she replied. “How’s castle business?”

“Boring, of course. Say, is that a spare scone?”

The cook gave Simon an amused look. “I believe so.”

Simon grinned brightly. Ebb told him he had a smile that could persuade armies to surrender. She was always so nice. “May I please have it?”

Mrs. Pritchard sighed overdramatically as she handed the pastry over. “Only because you asked so nicely, your highness.”

“I told you, call me Simon, please. Your highness is too long.”

“I would, but his majesty insists on formal titles. He’s quite...demanding.”

“Don’t I know it,” Simon grumbled, taking an aggressive bite of the scone. “Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard. Need anything from town?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Those carrots you found last week were lovely, thank you.”

“No problem! Thanks for the scone!”

Cook Pritchard waved as Simon dashed off. “You’re welcome, your highness, have fun!”

He absolutely would. He always had fun on days like this. Simon ran out the wooden doors, over the rawbridge, and across the great lawn. Ebb was standing there with her goat herd, magically trying to rein them in. She waved with her entire arm.

“Good morrow, Simon!” she yelled. Ebb didn’t care for formalities at all.

Simon waved back. “Good morrow, Ebb! Need anything from town?”

“Oh no, I’m alright. Just say hello to Penelope for me!”

“Will do!”

Simon ran over the grass and down the dirt road. The thick brush of the Wavering Wood separated the castle from Watford Town. Most used magic to reveal a path. But Simon didn’t trust his magic, so he knew the forest like the back of his hand instead. He made it through with ease, jumping over fallen branches and across the mossy ground, emerging into the sunlight on the other side. He immediately took a deep breath, exhaling with a long sigh. Outside the stone walls and merwolf moat, he could finally breathe.

Watford Town was the biggest collection of people in the Watford Kingdom. (Both were called Watford, which made geography lessons far too confusing in Simon’s opinion.) Large, tall houses lined busy dirt streets. Stalls were filled with people shouting out prices of their wares. Everyone was bustling and talking and laughing. Soldiers stood on street corners, watching everyone move. Simon strolled past all of them with hands in his pockets. A few of them went wide eyed seeing him, but most people didn’t even notice he was there. He sighed. This town was his real home. And he missed it all the time.

Simon walked through the downtown to the slight outskirts. He knocked on a familiar red door. A few footstep sounds later, it swung open, and Simon was looking Penelope Bunce right in the eye.

“Hey Pen,” he chirped. “Ebb says hi.”

Penny smirked. “Did you have to sword fight Davy to get him let you out during the day?”

Simon grinned even more. “Nope. He just let me go.”

“Wow. Is our good ol’ King going soft in his old age?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he scoffed. “Can I come in? Or has your Mum finally officially banned me?”

Penny barked a laugh and steps to the side. “Like she could stop me. Get in here, you royal bastard.”

Simon whipped off his scarf off and stepped into the Bunce house. It was big, but not as big as the castle, and it felt much smaller with two adults and four children all together. Simon didn’t mind. He preferred the cozy family feeling here to his large, empty supposed palace.

“How’s the castle been?” Penny asked. Simon groaned and flopped on one of the chairs. “That good, huh?”

Simon grunted. “Bloody nightmare. I thought David was demanding while we were in school, but now he’s got me reading even more books. I think I’m going to slice my throat on a policy manual page one of these days.”

“Oh the horror of reading. Want tea?”

“Yes please. And I’m fine with reading interesting books. But these ones have too many complicated words and not enough pictures.”

Penny sighed heavily as she boiled the kettle with her wand. “I sometimes wonder why we’re friends.”

Simon twisted his head around towards the kitchen with his sunshine smile. “Because I’m nice and charming and you love me.”

“True, untrue, and yes, I do, despite my better judgement.” Penny turned to him. She was smiling a bit, but her eyes were sad. “It’s sort of weird, y’know, not seeing you everyday at school. It’s been almost a year, and it’s still weird.”

Simon sighed. He got up from the chair and strolled over to her. He draped himself over Penny like an affectionate ragdoll, chin on her head and arms around her neck. “I miss you too, Pen.”

Penelope sighed and sunk into his arms for a second. But then struggled out of his grip as the kettle whistled. “Yeah, yeah, I miss you, you big softy. Now get off me and let me make the tea.”

“Of course, will do.” He planted a big wet kiss on her cheek before flopping back to the chair. Penny soon brought over two cups with steaming tea. She took the seat opposite him, and sighed after a long drink. Her whole body relaxed. And it looked like she needed it.

“So,” Simon said, “how’s the new job?”

Penny groaned. “Horrible. You’d think there’d be better work here for a mage, but there seems to be little good use for us outside court or in the North where Micah is. Which means I’m stuck trying to sell cooking ware to people on the street.”

“I wish I could help, Pen,” Simon sighed. “If I become king, I’ll make you and Micah court mages. And you’ll be my head advisor and court mage, promise.”

She gave Simon a strange look over her cup. “You mean ‘when you’re king’, Simon, right?”

Simon sunk into his chair. He shrugged his shoulders high and slumped down. Penny slowly put her tea down and leaned forward. “Simon, you’re the crown prince. You were specifically chosen by King David to be his heir.”

“I know,” he grumbled.

“You can’t pretend you’re not anymore.”

“I know.”

“You have to accept the responsibility of-”

“I know!”

The whole house shook slightly. The side table fell over and a crack appeared in the nearby wall. Simon was horrified, his gut twisting with guilt. He put down his cup and rubbed his face up and down. Stupid magic,he thought, never listens.

“Sorry,” he groaned. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper and this is your house and I’m damaging it. Sorry-”

“Hey, Simon,” Penny stepped out of her chair and stood in front of her friend. She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just, I hoped you would have accepted this by now.”

Simon sighed, slumping forward. “Yeah, me too. Guess not.” He ran a nervous hand through his tangled hair. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be a king. I barely passed my civics classes, I hate policy, I’m terrible at speaking, I can barely use this supposedly amazing magic I have. I’m never going to be like David.”

“Dear Lord, I hope not.” Simon gave Penny a weird look. “Simon, King Davy has made some good changes, but he does it with an iron fist. He just barrels through no matter what the lords or the people say. That’s not a good ruler, that’s a tyrant.”

“Don’t call him that. He’s not all bad. He took me in.”

Penelope sighed, patting him kindly. “I know. Just, don’t try to be like David, Si. Be like you.”

Simon reached up and squeezed her hand. “Okay. And you’ll be my top advisor. Or bodyguard, like Premal.”

She groaned, immediately pulling away from her friend. “Please never compare me to my brother ever again. The boy has a stick jammed so far up his arse you could mistake him for a statue.”

“Too true. He’s so still and slomen that I sometimes I run into him.”

“Please keep doing that. It might make him loosen up.”

Simon sunk further into his chair. “Hm, I’ll try.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. It still felt weird from his crown. It always did. “I don’t want to go back to the castle tonight. David’s going to make me read the geography book again.”

“Well,” Penny said playfully, “I’m not working tonight. We could go exploring the Wavering Wood, like our school days.”

“But we’ve explored all The Wavering Wood,” Simon whined. But quickly, like a lightning flash, an idea came into his wild head. He grinned mischievously. Penny instinctively leaned back.

“I don’t like that look, Simon.” She raised a cautious hand raised.

He stood up, hands on his hips in triumph. “We can explore the Forbidden Lands!”

Penny groaned. She shook her hanging head and walked towards the kitchen. As well as away from her insane friend. “I knew you would say that and I still can’t believe it,” she muttered.

“C’mon, Pen, it could be fun! We’ve been through the Wood enough. We’re old pros. This would be a new adventure!” He followed after her, practically vibrating behind her as she put away the tea blocks.

“Si, the Wavering Wood may be dense, but the Forbidden Lands are different. They’re actually treacherous. Lots of steep slopes and dangerous animals. We could get seriously hurt.”

Simon waved dismissively. “You’ve got good magic, I’ve got a sword, we’ll be fine.”

Penny gave him an unamused look over her glasses. But when Simon put on his pathetic pout, her resolve buckled. He hugged her from the behind. “Please Pen? We don’t even have to go that far in. I just want to go explore somewhere new, have some fun. Like the old days.”

She still looked unamused, but Simon pouted more, rubbing up against her hair like the affectionate puppy he sometimes was. “Please?”

Penelope stayed stoic for only a few more seconds. But soon enough she sighed, posture falling along with her resolve. “Fine,” she groaned, “we’ll go exploring.”

That made Simon, crown prince of all of Watford and most powerful mage in the land, squeal like an excited school boy. He jumped up and down while saying, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“I hope you know that if you die, it’ll be my head on a pike. So stay alive.”

“Of course! And I’ll pay you back. Get you some fancy herbs from the court mage’s cabinet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Si.”

He hugged her tight again. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

Penny leaned against him. Simon put his cheek on her hair. He really did miss this. Mage’s School was tough, what with his lack of magical raising and previous poor schooling, but he met Penelope and Agatha. And for the first time in his life, he had real friends. He never thought he needed one until them. Now, he missed seeing them everyday so damn much.

Simon wanted an adventure. Like the great magical prince he thought he would be the day David took him in. Just one. That was all he needed.

———————————————

AN: If you're enjoying it so far, go to chapter 2 right here.

[soughtout]

i’m almost me again, she’s almost you ..... ....  i laugh like me again, she laughs like you

Merlin’s beard, what is ( CHO CHANG ) doing out at this hour? For a ( HALF BLOOD ) who is ( 17 ) years old, ( SHE ) really ought to know better. You know, I hear that they’re aligned with ( THE ORDER ), but that could be just a rumor. I do know that ( SHE ) is ( CIS FEMALE ) and a ( RAVENCLAW ) alumni though. They’re very ( RESOLUTE ) and ( KIND ) but also quite ( RUTHLESS ) and ( DISTANT ), which could be why they remind of ( FALLING ASLEEP UNDERNEATH THE STARS, SLOWLY REALIZING THAT THE WORLD HAS NEVER BEEN KIND, A GLIMMER OF HOPE IN THE DARK AND THE WAY YOU ALWAYS SMILE, EVEN THOUGH YOU’VE NEVER FELT MORE ALONE THAN YOU DO RIGHT NOW. ). Some people say they’re the spitting image of ( MING XI ), but I’ve never heard of them. 

BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS.

Cho was born in Kinsale, Ireland, to a muggle father and a witch mother. They divorced when Cho was four years old, but remained on amicable terms, for Cho’s sake.

Her parents originally came from China, but they came to the UK during the 1960s as children (along with Cho’s grandparents) due to the economic regression and the famine that took place. Cho has visited her parents’ birth place a couple of times, but she has never lived there herself. Cho’s parents also never met while living in China.

They lived in a small cottage in the middle of the town. Her father was a shopkeeper, selling herbs, antique books and candles to the locals. Her mother was a mediwitch as well as a registered nurse, and tended to both the muggles and the wizards of their little town.

Cho is an only child, technically, but her mother was in the habit of taking in foster kids when Cho was growing up, so their house was always full. Cho considered and considers some of the ones that stuck around for longer periods to be her siblings, and refer to them as her sisters and brothers. If anyone asks if she has any siblings, she will say yes.

She spent a lot of time playing Quidditch growing up, and was always careless, reckless. Bruised knees, scratched skin and black eyes were common occurrences. Cho was always ‘one of the boys’, and was eager to prove herself. Often a little too much. She’d push herself too far, and have to run home to her mother, to get stitched up.

HOGWARTS YEARS.

She shows up at Hogwarts and gets immediately sorted into Ravenclaw. No one in her near vicinity is surprised. It makes sense, and she’s relieved. Cho likes when she can make sense of things, when she can understand. When things add up.

But the truth is, Cho would have done just as well in any other house, like  a true chameleon. 

During her second year at the school, she joined the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, as their seeker. From that moment, she lived and breathed Quidditch. It was her lifeblood, the thing that motivated her. She constantly pushed herself harder than she ought to, and kept ending up in the hospital wing. But she played a good game.

Was very popular while at the school. Cho was known as easy going, and kind. She was sweet-natured, bright, optimistic, always smiling, never went looking for a fight, softness personified. So what if she was slowly becoming a walking, breathing stereotype of a girl? She was all too aware of that, too. But it was a comfortable thing to be ---- well liked, well protected, well looked after. 

She would change, during her fifth year at the school. It would be the best and worst year of her life ---- she’d fall in love, but she would also let other people to destroy her, piece by piece, little by little. 

So, Cedric Diggory was her first love ----- and like all first loves, it was intense, electric. Cho would have done anything for him.

But would never be allowed to. And his death left a hole in her heart, a sliver of ice in her soul. Some of that inherent kindness, that warmth that came so naturally to her, was extinguished that day. 

She went home for the summer, spent most of it in despair. Refused to leave the house. Not even Quidditch excited her, anymore.

But Cho Chang had always been a girl of determination and resolution -- so she picked up the pieces, tried to put herself back together. Went back to the school for the autumn. To find out that everything had changed.

The people who she had thought were her friends, the people who were supposed to have her back, be there for her ( like she had always been, for them ), barely seemed to notice her, anymore. They stopped saving her a seat in the cafeteria. Made plans without inviting her. Whispered behind her back ( ‘ why is she still crying, like all the time? ‘ ). Pretended not to see her when she waved at them from across the room. A few people remained in her corner, but her former girl gang (most likely NPCs) wanted little to do with her, now that she was such a downer.

So Cho sought comfort elsewhere. Tried to find new friends. Buried herself in books. Wondered where the hell her popularity went. 

So she entered a relationship with Harry Potter. Her feelings for him were chaotic, tumultuous. Unsorted. Throughout their short relationship, her feelings were clouded by guilt, by sadness, by the way other people whispered behind her back, confirming all her worst fears. 

Mostly, Cho just longed for closeness, for comfort. For hope. 

During her sixth year at the school, her grades and her Quidditch performance suffered terribly. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t concentrate. But she pulled through, by the skin of her teeth. 

She still joined Dumbledore’s Army, mostly for Cedric’s sake. And in the room of requirements, she found some of that hope she had been looking for, so desperately !!!!! She came alive again, little by little.

But then someone who had remained loyal to her, throughout everything, was thrown out. And everything was turned on its head once again.

So she came back for her seventh year, right? At this point, she was kind of bitter, and less trustful of people. She kept everyone at an arm’s length. She no longer cried, no longer woke up screaming from nightmares. So her old friends let her back in, as if nothing ever happened. As if Cho could ever forget, what they did to her.

That year, Cho was mostly just fueled by a silent rage. She had never played Quidditch as well as she did that year, and she had never been quite as ruthless on the court ( or off the court, for that matter.... ) as she was then.

She had learned something about loyalty the year before. It’s earned. So Cho didn’t feel particularly bad about backstabbing several of her classmates, that year. If they’re cheating on their exams, that’s hardly her fault. Or if she just happened to know who’s cheating on who, and somehow just happened to have that leaked to someone she knew couldn’t keep their mouths shut. But who would suspect Cho? She had always been a shoulder to cry on, a sweet voice, a warm hug.

Was kind of.... fucked up..... by the way she was frozen out during her sixth year at the school. Refused to cry at anything. Was always smiling and laughing, trying to emulate the old Cho, the trope that she had once been unable to shake, but was now desperate for the comfort of. 

AFTER HOGWARTS.

Cho graduated with good grades and with talent scouts from two major Quidditch teams showing interest in her and her talents. So on graduation day, she signed with Tutshill Tornadoes, and became their new aspiring seeker.

She moved into a flat in London and adopted two cats and a toad.

Spends a lot of time painting, and probably isn’t particularly good at it, but she finds it peaceful. It quiets her mind, makes her less tense.

Joined The Order on a whim. It’s not really the type of thing one should do on a whim, of course. But Cho has always had a bleeding heart, one that’s made of gold, and as the war became more and more imminent, Cho could hardly sit by and do nothing. So despite her reluctance towards using violence, Cho is now a member of The Order. 

PERSONALITY / PERSONAL STUFF.

Let’s talk about the duality of Cho Chang !!!! On one hand, she is so so soft, so sweet, so kind. One of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. But then there’s the other side, that probably shouldn’t be there. The determination that had once been selfless has been poisoned, become entirely selfish, entirely self serving. Cut throat. Ruthless. She has been thrown under the bus enough times to know how to do it right.

On the one hand, Cho is loyal to a fault. The ride or die kind of loyal. The would die for you if you asked me to, kind of loyal. But only if you return the favor. If not, she’s fickle. 

Knows that she has a pretty face and a sweet demeanor, and isn’t afraid to use it to get what she wants. 

Kind of in the bad habit of keeping people at an arm’s length these days. Reveals little information about herself that’s of any real importance and is always questioning other people and their motives, even if she technically knows, deep down, that she can trust them. A seed of distrust is rooted deeply within her.

So so brave, but also so so tired of having to be !!!

Has never killed anyone and suspects that it would ruin her, if she had to. Cho always tries to disarm, disarm, disarm. 

Her patronus is a swan and I love that for her !!!!!!

Hasn’t cried in almost a year !!!!! Just can’t !!!! Do it !!!!

Bad at visiting her parents but thinks of them a lot and sends them weekly owls !!!

Feels the most alive when she’s up in the skies, flying.

Would fight a man for her friends.

Mostly finds comfort in books and art. Finds equal comfort in poetry and pretty words as she does in facts and knowledge.

Very bisexual !!!!! Has also found that she prefers girls to boys, these days.

Kind of sarcastic? 

Pitch black humor. Gallow’s humor always.

Speaks with a slight Irish accent !!

CHARACTER INSPO.

sansa stark, izzie stevens, meredith grey, every song written by hozier tbh, taryn duarte, willow rosenberg, queenie goldstein, elena gilbert. 

SOME CONNECTIONS ( i’ll elaborate on this tomorrow ).

a roommate !!!!!

quidditch rivals???

old quidditch team mates!!!

a couple of best friends !!

ex girlfriends !!!

enemies !!!

ex friends !!!

[unexpectedreylo]

The Straight Dope On Galaxy’s Edge

I went to Disneyland Aug. 7-10 for my birthday because where else would I rather be than in the GFFA?  

It’s amazing!  It’s like a Ralph McQuarrie painting come to life.  Even though it is “set” during the ST, it tries to have a little bit of something for every Star Wars fan.  And maybe even for your friends and family who aren’t into it as much as you are.

Don’t believe the hype that it’s not doing well.  Disneyland has had annual passholder blackout dates to keep attendance below crazy levels and while overall attendance is down 3% (probably due to fears of massive crowds as well as higher ticket prices),  I can safely tell you that there was a great deal of interest in Galaxy’s Edge by attendees.  On Thursday and Saturday, everyone made a beeline for it just as the park opened in the morning.  I was doing the Griswold family dash to Wally World myself, power walking the best my middle aged/out-of-shape self could as kids and teenagers went past me.  Requiring reservations for Oga’s Cantina and Savi’s Workshop (where you build the lightsabers) prevented hellacious hours-long lines for those attractions.  Smuggler’s Run has had waits as long as three hours over the course of the summer.  It reached its 1 millionth rider in mid-July.  On Thursday, the longest I wait I saw was 80 or 90 minutes and that was on a weekday blackout date.  The section of the park was busy both Thursday and Saturday mornings.  For what it’s worth, it seemed like half the people at Disneyland overall had some kind of Star Wars t-shirt on.  It was like a Celebration with rides.

Attendance isn’t the only metric.  What really matters is whether people are spending money there and I can vouch that people were buying.  The lightsabers are $200 a pop alone.  There were merchandise I wanted to get but weren’t available, such as the japor snippet necklace and the Rey vest (sizes XS-L were sold out).  White kyber crystals are still sold out.  I saw signs everywhere limiting certain items to one per person.  People were packing the cantina and all of them got drinks.  Ronto’s Roasters did pretty steady business.

Just bear in mind that parks play the long game and it probably serves Disney’s long term interests to allow paying attendees and not just local APs the chance to experience Galaxy’s Edge.  Hell crowds would just make people angry they spent all of that money and couldn’t see or do a thing.

Now, here’s where I’m going to dish some advice to those of you who are planning to go either to the one in Anaheim or at WDW.  The WDW version is at Disney’s Hollywood Studios, so some of this won’t apply to the Mouse House East but I think a lot of it will.

Tip #1--Your best bet is on a weekday, first thing in the morning as the park opens.  If it’s an AP blackout date, that’s even better.  Remember, Disney is like con...you don’t come to sleep.

Tip #2--Stay at a Disney hotel to take advantage of Magic Hour.  I know, I know, they’re $$$ while there are many cheaper alternatives but if you really want to beat the crowds this is the way to do it.  Galaxy’s Edge will not be accessible during Magic Hour (at DL it’s just Fantasyland that’s open) but you can start lining up at the ropes in front of Frontierland and Adventureland.  While GE at DL has three entrances, they will send you the looong way through New Orleans Square and Critter Country when the park fully opens.  If you’re at WDW, stay at the Art of Animation, Caribbean Beach, or Pop Century resorts...they’re the ones closest to Hollywood Studios though you’ll still have to take the Disney bus to get there.  (The Swan and the Dolphin are on Disney property but are NOT Disney resort hotels, so no Magic Hour.)  

Another perk to staying at a Disney hotel now is that as part of our travel package we all got free exclusive Galaxy’s Edge lanyards with a pin!

Tip #3--Ladies...I think with the exception of the First Order boutique and the cosplay items, I liked the a lot of t-shirts and stuff for kids more than the ones for adults!  So if you are on the small side, you might be able to fit in the bigger kids’ wear.  For instance I got a great Black Spire hoodie for $40 at Jewels of Bith...the adult hoodie was like 20 bucks more.  My mom liked it so much she got one for herself and my niece.  Note:  the merch you buy inside GE don’t say “Galaxy’s Edge” or have Star Wars logos.  If you want those, you’ll have to buy them in the regular Disney stores.

Tip #4--Oga’s Cantina.  Reservations are required so as soon as you plan your trip, go on the DL/WDW app and reserve right away.  I think now you can reserve up to 60 days in advance...if not, definitely 14 days in advance.  You are NOT guaranteed a seat.  You are given an area to hang out in (at the bar, at a table, or at a booth) and you are to remain there.  You can’t run and grab a booth for instance if a party leaves.  Your limit is 45 minutes and two drinks.  I will say though that service is fast (I guess most drinks are pre-mixed) and in our case, we didn’t even need to stay the entire 45 minutes.  I got the Cliff Dweller (I don’t drink) while my brother got whatever they call the beer and my dad got the teal-colored “white” wine.  My older niece got the blue milk with the Bantha cookie.  She gave rave reviews for both.  The younger niece got the stuff that came from the creature tank.  It sounds gross but she liked it.  There are no restrooms inside the cantina btw.  

Tip #5--Savi’s Workshop.  Again, reservations are required and they should be made as soon as possible.  The lightsabers are $199 and you pay when you check in.  The day I went they were running behind, so while my reservation was at 3:00, I didn’t actually get in the building until like 3:30.  The process takes about 20 minutes.  You are ushered into a shop and there’s a whole narrative and everything.  The “gatherers” have harvested scrap metal and kyber crystals and crafted lightsaber parts.  Based on the “theme” you selected at check in (stuff like “power and control” or “peace and justice”) you are given trays with parts to choose from and a crystal (blue, green, purple, or red).  Your guides are in character and sometimes it’s all earnest af, but then again so are the movies.  I found it surprisingly easy to put these together.  The “gatherers” put the blade in for you then you step forward, turn on the switch, and yay, you got a new lightsaber!  You get to wave them in the air and stuff.  On the way out you are given a free sheath bag to put it in.  If you don’t want to lug your new lightsaber on a plane or have to check it in, you can have it shipped home for $17 at the First Order boutique (though I don’t know if other stores will do it for you too).  

Tip #6--Smugglers’ Run.  The best time to go on the ride, since to date there are no fastpasses, is right when the park opens.  Thursday morning at 8:10 a.m. had the shortest wait, 15 minutes but I pretty much walked right onto the ride.  The next best option is going single rider, which is what my brother and I did the second time we went on it.  It was about half the regular wait time.  Have your camera ready to get that chess table photo op because you will get called right away for your “boarding group” (assigned with a color).  Two pilot, two shoot, two “engineer.”  The light up buttons make it easy to figure out what you have to do but accuracy is tough.  I piloted the first time, shot the second time.  The good news is I did not crash either time.  Which is miraculous.

Tip #7--Other food and drink.  Unfortunately I didn’t get the opportunity to eat at Docking Bay 7 or Ronto Rosters.  I’m told the breakfast wrap at Ronto Roasters is phenomenal.  Don’t expect typical Disney fare in Galaxy’s Edge; the closest it comes is the Star Wars popcorn.  No galactic churros or Mickey ice cream pops here.  In fact an in-character cast member and Chewbacca were really curious about our churros when we went into Galaxy’s Edge on Saturday.  My younger niece even tried to give Chewie a piece to try, LOL.  What you can get is blue milk and green milk.  We got one of each on Thursday to try.  Both were better than the notoriously sweet butterbeers at Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  Tasty and refreshing on a hot day.  But I kinda think we all leaned more toward the blue milk.  In fact the nieces insisted on another round of blue milk when we returned on Saturday.  You can get the Aurebesh label soda and water at a variety of stands and at Docking Bay 7.  (Maybe Ronto Roasters too.)  They’re pricey but everything at Disney is 30-50% more expensive than they would be anywhere else.  And the Aurebesh bottles make for low cost souvenirs.

Tip #8--Characters.  Chewbacca and FO stormtroopers were around quite a bit.  I saw Vi Moradi twice and Kylo a couple of times (Chewie and Kylo get treated like rock stars), but I totally missed Rey.  My parents saw her though.  Characters here do NOT sign autographs, something my nieces found out the hard way when they tried to get them from stormtroopers.  LOL.

Tip #8--Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities.  This is where you buy your holocrons and loose kyber crystals (only with purchase of a holocron).  They were still out of white crystals so I bought a red one.  When you put a red crystal in your Jedi holocron, Yoda warns you about the dark side.  Bonus:  the kyber crystals you buy here can be put in your lightsaber from Savi’s Workshop.  So if you buy both a holocron and a lightsaber, make sure you get a different color crystal for each so you can switch them around!  Here you’ll find a lot of Jedi cosplay, Leia cosplay, and the headdress Padme used in AOTC as part of her peasant disguise, among other goodies.  The stained glass portraits of Leia and Queen Amidala were stunning but they were kinda big and 95 bucks apiece.  They had a set of ceramic busts of everyone’s favorite mother-daughter duo for $55 but I didn’t feel like lugging those around at the time.  For older Star Wars fans, this is probably going to be your favorite store.

Tip #9--Other merchandise/shopping.  The First Order boutique is located right next to Kylo’s parked shuttle and across from the “milk” stand.  The Resistance has two carts at the entrance in front of the (unopened) Rise of the Resistance ride.  I kinda like that the underground Resistance is on the “outskirts” of the outpost while the conquering FO is right there in the center of town.  Makes sense for the narrative.  Savi’s and the store where you can build a droid (no reservation necessary...this was a hit with kids) are next to each other.  Everything else is in the marketplace in a series of smallish stalls.  Keep an eye out because nobody has signs.  (Note:  layout might be slightly different at WDW.)  

Tip #10--Wear a hat and sunscreen.  The marketplace is the only area in GE with shade.  The rest of it is out in the sun, so be prepared because in CA it’s easy to get a sunburn and in FL, it’s easier still.  Bring a rain poncho if you’re at WDW because of those hit and run thunderstorms.  

Tip #11-- You don’t have to be a passive tourist.  Some cast members get into it more than others but you’ll get more out of Galaxy’s Edge if you play along.  As Star Wars fans, you’ll get the lingo (for instance they do call kids “younglings” and talk about money as credits) so that’s no problem.  When you’re inside of Galaxy’s Edge you can go on the DL/WDW app and activate your “datapad” and scan stuff at various locations.  My brother did this with his phone while we were poking around and you can earn rankings and stuff within the different factions.

Overall I think what Galaxy’s Edge is now is just the beginning.  Rise of the Resistance opens this winter at both parks and from what I’ve heard, more attractions and shows are in the works.  Personally, I’d love a hair braiding station where you can get your hair done like Leia or Rey or Battle of Geonosis Padme since that’s probably her easiest style!  I want a Reylo night time show!  But it’s absolutely worth visiting as it is.  You can easily spend half the day or longer there, depending on how much you want to do.  Few Star Wars or Disney experiences will ever top entering Galaxy’s Edge, huffing and puffing from having to go up and down hills, hearing the music over the loudspeakers and the cast members and various characters coming out to wave hello to everyone.  Even the stormtroopers.  I felt like I’d just finished the Batuu 5K!  And then seeing everyone gawk at the Millennium Falcon in front of Smuggler’s Run.  

[hayleysstark]

you disappear (without anyone noticing)

Words: 7903  Warnings: Emotional abuse, mildly sexual content Summary: The Onceler finally makes it big, and it's not anything like he'd ever imagined.  Notes: So, I lifted the title straight out of the Andy Black song, Homecoming King, because I needed something to call this and that was the first thing I thought of.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3

Right from the get-go, there's a hundred million things to get off the ground, and the Onceler can barely keep up with them all.

The factory, for one—he's got plans for that factory, big plans, and he doesn't think he's even left his bedroom the last two days, sketching and erasing and resketching out the blueprints, over and over and over again, pencil scratching lightly along the graph paper, and he has to stop and rub out a line here or add a beam there—even just the crude mock-up he's got going on the page lets him know this project's going to be a pretty huge one, and he'll need all the help he can get if he wants to get this thing built, and fast. They can't keep working out of tents and campers their whole lives—he's pretty sure, when he stops to think about it, that that's actually some subset of illegal, somewhere, and he is not going to let this whole thing crash and burn in a courtroom before he can even get it all the way off the ground.

So he lays the plans for the factory, line by thin, graphite line, until the shape of it starts to come together. And it's a little bit odd, he's not even going to try to deny that, and it's a little bit clunky, too, with these big pipes sticking out at odd angles here and there, and there's one roof over on the east side that's shaped kind of like a triangle at the top, and it doesn't really look anything like a roof is supposed to look like, but it's—well, it's quirky. It's got personality.

And he really actually kind of—likes it.

"Oncie?"

Something jolts, sharply, in the pit of his stomach. The alarms start going off in his head like sirens. His mother only uses that voice—that voice like something a little too sweet, like sugar, like honey—when she's got to say something she knows he won't want to hear, like—

—you're never gonna amount to anything, you know that silly little invention of yours isn't ever gonna go anywhere, you know that, Oncie, don't you—?

"We've got us a little problem."

Yeah, okay. There it is.

He swallows hard, and swivels around in his seat to look at her, just outside the window, with the curtain pulled back, and he tries not to let himself think about what he'll do if—if—

—if his thneed has already failed, already, so soon after its success, if it's just a silly little invention that'll never go anywhere—

But he doesn't say that. He doesn't say any of it. "Problem?" he says, instead, and it takes everything he's got to keep his voice steady.

—what will Ma think if I've failed already—?

"Mm-hm." She bobs her blond head solemnly. "See," her lips pinch up in a little, dissatisfied line, "we're not makin' thneeds fast enough."

Okay. Okay. That's—that's good. Right? Not—not good, not really, but it's—it's good that they're still getting orders, that they have too much work, rather than too little, that's good, isn't it? More is always better than less, right?

"Harvesting the tufts takes too long!" Uncle Ubb pants heavily from behind a wheelbarrow filled with fine, bright pink strands.

Oh…kay.

Okay. That's—that's something they can work with. Right? This—this is something he can work with. He can figure something out.

"Well," he turns to his mother—this is his mother, after all, his family, and sure, he's had his disagreements with them, but they're still his family, and they're helping him when they don't have to, and they should be just as involved in the decisions as he is. Besides, a little brainstorming never hurt anyone. Two heads are better than one, and all of that. "What else can we do?"

"Well," his mother taps her perfectly-manicured fingernails—hot pink, this week, but she'll probably cycle back around to lemon-yellow next Sunday—against the side of her made-up face. "This just came to me—we could always start," she glances, hesitantly, up at him from under her blue eyeshadow and black mascara, "choppin' down the trees."

Chop—chop down the—? But—but he said—no, he explained things to his family, he did, he told them they couldn't—

"What?" Maybe he misheard. Maybe she said something different, something totally different, and he just heard trees because Mustache has—gotten into his head, or something, the guy's always on him to join in his hippie-conservationist stuff—

Uncle Ubb, still dutifully pushing the wheelbarrow, lets out a cheer. "Now you're talkin'! That would speed things up!"

"But—" Mustache and Pipsqueak and the animals, what will they do? The swans, the fish, the bears, what are they going to do without—without the trees? Mustache said they needed them, he said everyone here needs the trees and��

"No buts, Oncie," his mother breaks in before he can finish, but it's not like he even knows what he was going to say anyway, "you're runnin' a business now."

Yeah, he—he is running a business, and he knows that—he has to do whatever he can to get this thing off the ground, up and running, he's got plans, he's got big plans, he's got a dream, he's got a vision, and he'll do whatever it takes to see it through, but—but Mustache—and the animals—and the trees—they need—

"You have to do what's best for the company! And your mama!"

What's best—what's best for—?

Something sparks up and sears like—like heat, like fire, in his chest, in his lungs, in the back of his throat. She's right. She's right, she's right, she's—if the money keeps rolling in like it does, if people keep pre-ordering thneeds like this, in twos and threes and tens and twenties, he's going to be rich, he's going to be—

He's going to be able to take care of his family. In all the ways that his mother couldn't, in all the ways that his Aunt Grizelda couldn't, and his Uncle Ubb couldn't, and Brett and Chet couldn't, in all the ways that his father wouldn't—

There's that sparking-up-and-searing-like-heat-like-fire thing in the back of his throat again.

He's not thinking about trees anymore.

"I guess it couldn't hurt to chop down a few trees."

He can take care of the family. No one will ever have needs that can't be met, not here, not in this family, not ever again.

"You've made me so proud, Oncie!"

Proud—? Proud? He's made her—he's actually made her—? He's—he's really—?

"Come here!" And she puts her knee up on the windowsill and throws her arms around him—and he can smell her hairspray and her perfume and all her makeup, mixing and merging together and making his nose sting, and she's hugging him so tight, he thinks she's going to crack his ribs clean through his shirt and vest, but he doesn't care because he's smiling wider than he ever has in his life, so wide it hurts his face, and he doesn't know how his heart can possibly hold this much happiness, she's hugging him, she's never ever ever ever hugged him before, not ever, not once, even when he asked, even when there was that really bad storm and he got scared and he ran to her and he asked her to hold him, she didn't, and it was like she couldn't bear to touch him, to be near him, to even look at him, and what's wrong with me, why doesn't she want to hug me, what did I do—?

But she—she's hugging him. She's hugging him. Here. And now.

And this—

—this is what it feels like to be a success, to be important, to matter, to mean something, this is what it means, and he never, ever, ever wants this moment to end.

Things are okay until his first interview, and then his mother tells him she won't sit next to her grown son on live television looking like a chimney sweep, with sleeves that don't go all the way down his wrists and a vest that doesn't go all the way down to his waist, and then his mother laughs—her high, tinkling, sugar-sweet sort of laugh, and he knows she isn't doing it to be mean, he knows she's just trying to motivate him to look better, and she only wants what's best for him, but it still stings like saltwater on broken skin, and Aunt Grizelda laughs, too, a deep, throaty sort of laugh, and it sounds a little nastier, a little more like she means it, and it falls on his ears a little harder, and he really, really doesn't know how to remind them that this is all he's got—he hasn't had anything new since he was about twelve, he hasn't had the chance, he just hasn't—he started growing out of it, and he'd tried to save up when he got that job in the coffee shop, but his mother needed a new coat and Aunt Grizelda needed new boots and Brett needed—

Well. It—it doesn't matter. New clothes for him just—it's just never been a priority, and there isn't anything wrong with that, and oh, Oncie, it's not like you're ever gonna look nice no matter what you do, sweetheart—

New clothes have just—just never been a priority. Okay? Except now they are. So. So the Onceler goes into town to get himself a suit.

The custom-made three-piece is the brightest shade of emerald green he's ever seen in his life, and all kinds of eye-catching, and the silken fabric flows smooth as water through his fingers, and the price tag's enough to make a lesser man faint, but the money's really rolling in now, by the hundreds, by the thousands, and this will barely even make a dent in things, even if the poor-boy-from-the-poor-farm in his head is freaking out because unnecessary extravagance, what don't you understand about unnecessary extravagance, but he pushes it down and he pushes it back because he is not a poor boy on a poor farm anymore, he is not sleeping in a falling-down barn with a mule, and he places an order for a pair of long green gloves to match the suit, just to prove it.

He never even knew, until now, that he likes the color green. Or silk. Or expensive things, in general.

It turns out he does. He really, really does.

And then he adds a hat, just because he can, and it makes him look taller, except taller in a good way, not the weird, gangly, over-six-feet with legs so long he spends half his time tripping over them—not that kind of tall, the hat doesn't make him look that kind of tall, like a child who hasn't grown into his limbs yet, like a little boy who doesn't know what he's doing, it makes him look an imposing kind of tall, an intimidating kind of tall, a no-one-can-knock-him-down kind of tall and that—that's a tall he can really, really get behind.

"Mr. Onceler," the lady in the chair calls him, like she's been calling him all night, and he sits up a little straighter, on instinct, because there is something about the mister in front of his name, something that makes him feel good—"the Onceler" sounds—there is something intrinsically and fundamentally weak about the sound, something that is too open, and exposed, and there for everyone to take from, and look at, and laugh at, and—

Mr. Onceler. Mr. Onceler. Mr. Onceler.

Yes. That sounds—

—strong, powerful, no one can knock me down—

—good.

The Onceler stares over his plate of pancakes-and-syrup-and-marshmallows-that's-actually-mostly-marshmallows, with the fork frozen halfway to his mouth, at his own face, grinning out at him from the glossy cover of the magazine—the biggest magazine in Greenville, he's on the front of the biggest magazine in Greenville. His stomach does a little flip at the thought. That's a pretty big deal, right? Pretty important, right?

(He's pretty important now, right?)

"Hey, Ma," he says, when she comes into the kitchen, still in her bathrobe, and her honey-yellow hair pulled back in dozens of tiny pink curlers, "they published the interview." He flicks the magazine at her.

His mother goes to the coffeepot and pours herself a steaming cup before she even glances at the magazine, adjusting her electric-blue cat-eye glasses with one perfectly-manicured hand. "Eurgh," she says, the last remnants of sleep softening the sharp edges to her voice, and she tosses the magazine back onto the table like it's the dirty pelt of some dead animal by the roadside, and it nearly goes skidding into his mostly-marshmallows, "you can do better than that rag, Oncie. Passin' themselves off as a decent publication when they didn't even bother to cover up those horrible bags 'neath your eyes! Leave you lookin' twice your age!" She takes a slurping sip of coffee.

Oh. Right. Yeah. Right, yeah, of—of course there are shadows under his eyes. In—in the photographs. Of course there are shadows under his eyes, blazing stark and violet and obvious against his skin, and he looks again and he can't believe he ever missed them in the first place, he can't believe he missed them before the interview—he'd looked in the mirror before he'd sat for the interview, hadn't he—

No. No, he hadn't. He'd had to take care of all that paperwork to even have time to sit for the interview the next morning in the first place, and it had taken all night and most of the morning and he'd just jammed on his hat and pulled on his gloves and raced for the door and—and—

The biggest magazine in Greenville, he repeats, silently, to himself, lips soundlessly forming every word, except it doesn't feel like such a big deal anymore.

(He doesn't feel important anymore.)

He gets a pair of sunglasses before his next interview—those cheap plastic frames, you know the ones, and he picks the ones that are glittery, and blue, and ten kinds of over-the-top, and he wears them to the next interview, and the interview after that, and the interview after that, and the photo shoots and the public speeches and the parties and the dinners with important clients and the networking events and everywhere and there is something about it that feels good. The dark lenses hide the shadows under his eyes like nothing else. The dark lenses hide his eyes like nothing else. The dark lenses hide—

—everything, everything, and there is something so powerful, isn't there, about hiding away where no one can see, there is something so powerful about a barrier that no one can break, no one can smash through, no one can hurt him, no one can knock him down—

—the shadows. The dark lenses hide the shadows.

He's spent eighteen years trying to disappear.

Into the window, into the wall, into the old, creaking wood of the floor and the front porch steps, into the new paint his mother just put up in the kitchen, into the apple orchard down the road, into Old Man Simmons' strawberry patch a few hundred acres over, into the new cabbage crop Ubb just planted, into the barn with Melvin's shaggy warmth and the rain on the half-collapsed roof, and the floor all strewn with scratchy bits of straw and hay, into the notes that sound out of the falling-apart guitar in his hands, into everything, into nothing, he just wanted to go away, to disappear, to stop being, and to stop being seen.

Because things would be better if no one could see him, things would change, things would get better, because his mother couldn't look at him, if she couldn't see him, if he wasn't there to be seen, to be looked at and laughed at and exposed and why couldn't he just disappear, why couldn't he just—just stop being seen, why couldn't he be invisible, everyone would be happier if he disappeared, everything would be better if he disappeared, if he could just disappear—

He's spent eighteen years teaching himself how to disappear.

Into the window. Into the wall. Into the old, creaking wood of the floor and the front porch steps. Into the new paint his mother just made him put up in the kitchen. Into the barn. Into music. Into everything.

Into nothing.

He's spent eighteen years teaching himself how to disappear, and—

The cameras are flashing, everywhere he looks, a thousand silver lights coming to life so fast he can't keep up with them all, and he knows better than to even try, and there are microphones in his face and reporters and everywhere he goes it's Mr. Onceler, I love your product and Mr. Onceler, you're a genius and Mr. Onceler, will you sign my thneed and—

—and he's never been more visible.

And he—

Wow. He really, really likes being seen.

"Money? Is that what this is about? About making money?"

It's not. It's not the money. It's not about the money, it's—he likes having money, because of course he likes having money, who doesn't like having money? He likes having money, and he likes buying things, he likes buying expensive things, and he likes the looks on people's faces when they see his expensive things, the awe and envy there, and then they know they are dealing with someone strong, they are dealing with someone powerful. And he likes the extravagance of it, he supposes, the absurdity of it, of having so much he doesn't even know what to do with it all, but it's—it's not about money. It's never been about money.

He grew up on a farm—nothing but the clothes on his back and the crops in the field, and he's lived without velvet and silk and satin, he's lived without office skylights and crystal chandeliers and high-backed crimson chairs, and he could live without it all again.

No. It's not about the money.

(Then what is it about?)

He doesn't—he doesn't really—

He doesn't really know what it's about. When he really sits back, and thinks about it, he doesn't—he doesn't know. He doesn't have an answer.

He tries to press, tries to push or pull or pluck it out of himself, but there's just one word, flashing on and off and on again, like a neon sign in the back of his mind, and he keeps coming back to it—that one word, over and over and over again—more more more more more—

"If it's money you want," the Lorax looks pointedly around the lush office, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and the crystal bowl of fresh fruit and the twenty-four-inch globe revolving slowly on its gleaming brass stand, "pretty sure that ship has already sailed." There is something silent and unspoken at the end of the sentence, just there, an empty space where he might have added, once, something like kid or Beanpole, but he doesn't, and the silence stretches on and on and on, and the unspoken goes unspoken and that empty space stays empty, and it burns the inside of the Onceler's ear just to listen to it.

"Yeah," he says, because he needs to say something to fill up that empty space. "Yeah. It really has."

He buys a guitar.

It is bright red, and the strings are gold, and there's glitter at one tapered, triangular end, and it fits like it was made for his hands, and every note is clear and ringing and bright, and he loves it.

It makes noise, it makes—music, it makes music, and he—

He loves it.

The noise and the music and the clear and ringing and bright notes and the sound—

The sound, all the sound, there's so much sound—

(He is being heard, and he wants more.)

It's another late night, with furious torrents of rain heavily lashing at the high windows, and a mountain of paperwork towers over him on the polished desktop in his office, and it's not like it's going to go anywhere if he just spends the night sitting in his desk chair and staring at it, with his hands clasped under his chin, like he's been doing for the last two hours because the idea of reaching out a hand and grabbing the paper off the top of the stack, and starting to read it, sounds like so much effort, and he is so, so tired—

He wakes up with an aching neck and a pen in his hand and a pile of papers beneath his head, and his glittery blue glasses hanging half off his face.

(It's okay, though. He wakes up like that a lot these days.)

"—but wait! There's more!"

He's tired. A bone-deep and aching kind of tired, the kind of tired that makes him feel cold all over even though it's sunny and seventy-five Fahrenheit outside, and even hotter here, under all the bright lights and blazing cameras. He's tired, but he puts on his best sell-a-thneed smile, and he keeps right on going, because the cameras are rolling and the world is watching and he'd damn well better be ready to put on a show.

"Thanks to its all-natural microfibers," he holds the fuzzy, lemon-yellow thneed up for the camera, turns it around and around and around so every angle, every inch, can be seen and observed and admired by the audience, "the thneed is super absorbent!"

And, right on cue, he dunks it down in the water bowl, lets the eye-watering, egg-yolk yellow fabric greedily soak it up, drop by slow, glistening, crystal-clear drop, and he hefts it up again, in full view of the cameras.

"Everybody," he says, and paints on another bright, beaming smile—the world is watching, and you'd damn well better be ready to put on a show— "needs a thneed!"

"Well," his mother says, as the screen goes black and his sell-a-thneed face disappears, "least you remembered to smile."

(He's on television, and he's never felt less important.)

"Mr. Onceler," Linda with the long blond hair and red lipstick and a flawless French manicure says, pumping his hand enthusiastically, "it's such an honor! I love your thneed!"

He laughs. He's practiced that laugh when he's alone in his office, practiced it until it's polished, until it's perfect. "Thank you." He dips his head, but not far enough that his hat will fall off. He's practiced that, too. "It's wonderful to hear that." He says it like he doesn't hear it a million times a day, like he isn't stopped by a dozen people just stepping outside the factory. He's practiced that.

He's practiced everything. All of it. There's nothing spontaneous, nothing new, nothing he hasn't said before. There's no room for mistakes, no room for him to screw it up, no room for him to—

(be him)

—no room for mistakes. There's no room for mistakes.

Three days later, Linda with the long blond hair and red lipstick and flawless French manicure invites him out for a coffee, and he realizes, a split second too late—because this is him and when he has he ever been good at reading social cues, when has he ever—he realizes a split second too late that she's asking him out on a date, and he—

—he panics, okay? He panics and he doesn't know what to do and he doesn't know what to say because this isn't something he's practiced when he's alone in his office until it's polished and perfect and there's no room for mistakes, this isn't something he's ever—had to practice, he's never even been on a date before except that one time with that one guy but that doesn't count because things lasted all of twenty minutes before the guy called him a weirdo and ditched him, and there was that girl with the pretty brown eyes, but she stood him up and he's pretty sure the whole thing was a joke to begin with—

He's never—he's never been out on a date, and if he's never been out on a date and he says yes to this one, then he's not going to know what to do. He won't have any way to practice when he's alone in his office, because he doesn't know what you're supposed to do on a date to begin with, and he can't practice if he doesn't know what he's supposed to do to begin with, and then it won't be polished and it won't be perfect and there'll be room for mistakes and if he has room for mistakes then he'll make them, he'll screw things up somehow, he'll be him, and she'll see him and she'll look at him and she'll laugh at him—

"N-no," he says, and it comes out so quietly he knows without needing Linda with the long blond hair to tell him that she can't even hear him. "No," he says, again, louder this time, "no, I don't—I d-don't—"

—want, I don't want, not if it can't be perfect, not if I can't practice—

"No—" and he realizes, with a sharp jolt deep in the pit of his stomach, that he's saying it over and over and over again, "—no, no, no, no—" and he's shaking his head and he's stepping back and he's panicking and Linda with the long blond hair and red lipstick and flawless French manicure is so close to him and—

—she'll see him and she'll look at him and she'll laugh at him and this isn't something he can practice until it's polished and perfect and there's no room for mistakes and if he has room for mistakes he'll make mistakes and she'll see and everyone will see and they'll know he's a liar and a fake and a fraud and he's not smart and he's not strong and he's not big and powerful and they'll know he's just a boy in a falling-down barn with a secondhand guitar and a shaggy, stubborn old mule and he is not so big they can't knock him down and they'll knock him down—

He finally figures out how to shut his mouth, but Linda with the long blond hair is already gone.

He tells himself, when he gets back to his office, and he is alone, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and bowl of fruit and crystal chandelier and twenty-four-inch globe and skylights are there to soak up the sound and the shaking in his hands, he tells himself he wouldn't have had time to grab a coffee with Linda with the long blond hair anyway, because he has work. He is smart and strong and big and powerful, and he has work, lots and lots and lots of work, and even if he could have said yes, he wouldn't have had time, and he would have fallen behind on everything and had to play catch-up, and he would have just embarrassed himself on the stupid date anyway, and she would have called him a weirdo and ditched him like that one guy—

He's busy. He's big and powerful and important and busy.

He doesn't have time for Linda with the long blond hair.

He doesn't have time for things and places and people that aren't going to turn a profit.

He can't breathe anymore, when he steps outside the factory—there's this awful, metallic smell in the air, kind of like motor oil, like something you'd dump in the back of your car, and he chokes on it—he can taste it in his mouth, swallow it down the back of his throat, feel it all thick and globby and vile in his lungs, but he steps outside the factory sometimes anyway, just to—just to look at it.

(Is that weird? That's weird. That's really, really weird.)

He likes to look at it. The way it towers over the trees. The way its tallest pipes pierce the grey clouds and belch out thick layers of heavy black smoke, so dense he can't see, but there is a flare of fierce pride in his chest, all the same, because this—

—this is his factory.

He designed it, and he built it, and he brought it to life, he turned it from pencil lines on graph paper to something real, and solid, and here, and it's his, and he made it, this is his factory, this is—

—something so big, no one can knock it down, not ever—

—his factory, and he loves every last metallic, motor-oil inch.

He's not sure why he says no.

He likes to work—he really, really likes to work, and the Lorax has dropped by three times this week to tell him it's unhealthy and he's working too hard, like that furry little lump cares, like he gives half a damn about anything besides his grass and his trees and his forests—

Look. The Onceler likes to work, okay? Is that so wrong?

He likes to work, and he's not sure why he says no, except that this is one meeting, one public speech, one photo shoot, one interview, one pile of paperwork, one high-society party too many, and he wants to—

Jesus. He just wants to sleep. He doesn't want to talk to people. He doesn't want to shake hands and shoot his sell-a-thneed smile, the one he's practiced when he's all alone in his office, God, his face hurts from how much he's put that smile on this week, he doesn't want—

—to be polished, to be perfect, to be entirely without flaws, to be Mr. Onceler—

—he doesn't want to go out.

But—

"You're runnin' a business now, Oncie," his mother says, sternly, and her eyes flash behind electric-blue frames. "You don't have time to be takin' no breaks! You have to do what's best for the company, and your mama!"

She's right.

And he knows she's right.

So he hitches that famous, sell-a-thneed smile right back on, and he lifts his chin and throws back his shoulders and he does what's best for the company.

He knocks his hat off.

One flailing hand, one overenthusiastic gesture, and his hat is gone, rolling away, bouncing on the floor, and he feels—

—so small—

—wrong, without it, and there are a lot of people looking at him—

—thousands and thousands and thousands of them, and they're all here, they're all looking at you and laughing at you because you're a fake and a fraud and you're not Mr. Onceler, you're just a boy from a barn with a mule and you're never going to amount to anything, you lazy, worthless, useless—

He grabs his hat, and he jams it roughly back on his head and—

—safe, you're safe, they can't see anymore, they can't see who you really are anymore, and you're safe so long as they can't see who you really are—

—and things are okay again. He can breathe again.

There's a party.

Sorry, it's not really a party, it's a charity gala, except it's really just a party, because he can't think of a single person in this room that's actually going to donate a single cent to charity by the end of this night.

He doesn't really want to be at the party—it's in some marble ballroom in some big city, thousands and thousands of miles away from Greenville, and the trees and the valley and his factory and his work and his thneeds and the Lorax, it's thousands and thousands of miles away from everything, and he doesn't like not being there, but his mother, she—well—it's—it's a long story.

But then he was on a plane, and then he was in a marble ballroom in a big city, at the party, and the only good thing is he has a glass of red wine in his hand, and good stuff, too, not the shitty grocery-store brand you buy when your life has really gone off the rails and you just need something—nah, this is good wine. And also, it's free for every attendee.

He's going to make the most of that.

(He likes wine. Is that so wrong? He likes wine. He likes the way it tastes in his mouth and on his tongue and in the back of his throat, a little bit sweet and a little bit not, and it goes to his head really quick, and things spin and blur all around him, and the lights dance side-to-side in front of his eyes, and the tips of his fingers tingle, and things don't hurt. He thinks of his mother, his father, his Aunt Grizelda and his uncle Ubb, and it doesn't hurt.)

(He thinks of Linda with the long blond hair, and his own voice, no no no no no no and it doesn't hurt.)

(He thinks about the Lorax, and the way he used to call him Beanpole, and the way he used to call him kid, and the way he doesn't call him anything at all anymore, like he's something too terrible to even name, and that—

—that one is going to take more than two glasses of wine to get down.)

(Thank God the wine is free.)

Look, the point is—the point is—

Okay, look, the point is this.

There's a party, in a marble ballroom, in a big city, with bright lights spreading out like the glittering web of a giant spider, and everybody in this room and everybody in this city knows his name, but there is still something—something wrong, there is something cold, and hollow, and impossibly heavy inside him as he stands there, sipping (free) red wine (that's just a little too sweet). He's away from everything.

The factory. Greenville. The trees, and the valley, and the thneeds, and the Lorax—he wonders, all of a sudden, what the Lorax would think of them all here in this ballroom, playing at charity and generosity, and his heart hurts, like a physical wound hurt, like a giant hand has reached inside and squeezed his core, and even as he shakes hands with Colin with the brown hair and the brown eyes who loves his thneed and has three of them at home, Colin who is developing a new high-speed camera that can take five hundred frames a second, that feeling doesn't go away. Or Randall with the big ears and the bright orange thneed slung around his neck like a scarf, or Avaline, in the blue chiffon dress with her ginger hair teased up high as an anthill, who says the thneed changed her life, or Jessica with the red handbag that's actually a thneed when he looks closer, and bright purple lipstick, and—

"—oh, mm-hmm, yes, my Oncie's a huge success—"

(Something jolts, sharply, in the pit of his stomach. The alarm bells start going off in his head. Like sirens.)

—something a little too sweet, like sugar, like honey, and he turns, and he looks, and she's there, in the red taffeta dress, with half the room hanging on her every word—

"'Course, you wouldn't have known it from lookin' at him!" She laughs. High and tinkling and it's not not not sweet, it's not sweet at all, and he thinks maybe it never really was. "Never thought he'd amount to much of anythin' at first—spent half his childhood askin' myself where I went wrong!"

No. That's not—that's not—but he's made her proud now, right? She's proud of him now, right?

(He's done something right now, right?)

"—still ask myself that, sometimes, if I'm bein' honest with y'all—"

But—but—

—but hairspray, and perfume, and makeup, all mixing and merging together and making his nose sting and you've made me so proud and didn't she mean it? Didn't she mean it? She was supposed to mean it, she was supposed to be proud now, she was supposed to—

(She was supposed to love him now.)

And she—she—

—she doesn't.

(And maybe she never did.)

And everyone knows, and everyone sees him—everyone is seeing him. They're seeing him, and they know. They know he's a fraud. A fake. A liar. They know he's not big or important or powerful, they know he doesn't matter or mean anything, and they're going to knock him down, and he just—

—he just—he just wants to get out. Get out, get out of here, get away from here, get away where no one can see, but he can't—he can't—he can't get away, because the doors are on the other side of the room, and there's nowhere else, there's nowhere else for him to go, and he's stuck and he's trapped and open and exposed with a trillion people who know he is a fraud and a fake and a liar, and not big or important or powerful—

Balcony. There—there's a balcony. Right? There's a balcony, and he can—he can reach the balcony. It's closer than the doors, he can reach the balcony. He can reach the balcony. He can make it. He can do it. He can get to the balcony—

He crashes. Into something.

Into someone.

A man.

A man, dressed all in blue, with blond hair down to his chin, and a beard, too, and muscles, and a warm and easy and wide and open smile, and there is something so bright in it, the Onceler can feel it all the way down to his bones—

"I-I'm sorry," he says, reflexively, and steps back. The man in blue is as tall as he is. Maybe taller. He's never met anyone as tall as he is. "I'm sorry," he says, again. "I—I wasn't looking."

"It's all right," the man in blue says, and his voice is deep, a rumbling sort of deep. "As a matter of fact, I was hoping to speak with you, Mr. Onceler." His tongue curls around the name in a way no one else's ever, ever has, and it sends a shiver of sheer pleasure down the Onceler's spine, but he pushes it back, pushes it down, and he doesn't let himself think about it. "And I believe you've just given me an in."

"I—yes," the Onceler says. He isn't tongue-tied. He isn't stammering. Powerful and important people don't get tongue-tied. Powerful and important people don't stammer.

(The man's name is Bryce Downing. Bryce Downing gets him a third glass of wine from a server with a shining silver tray, and Bryce Downing takes him out to the balcony, and he looks out over all the blurry bright lights of the big city with Bryce Downing and a glass of wine, and he can breathe again.)

Bryce Downing leads him out of the ballroom, and down the hall, and around a corner, and into a brightly-lit bathroom with a marble counter, and faucet taps that glisten gold, and Bryce Downing pins him against the bathroom wall, and presses kisses all down his cheekbone and his jaw and his throat, and he doesn't stop to think about anything before he pushes off the wall and kisses back, and moans into Bryce Downing's skin.

Bryce Downing grabs at him, at his clothes, big broad hands grasping at his pinstriped lapels of his suit and emerald-green silk of his gloves and velvet black brim of his hat and cheap glittery plastic of his glasses and—

—he was going to see. Just like—just like everyone back there in the ballroom saw, Bryce Downing was going to see, and he was going to see a fake, a fraud, a liar, useless and unimportant and insignificant and stupid and small—

"—no—"

The Onceler pulls back. He pushes pushes pushes out against Bryce Downing with everything he's got, but there's nothing—there's nothing, there's no force, he's got no power to put behind it, he's got nothing to put behind it, because he's—

—weak and small and anyone can knock him down, anyone at all—

"What?" Bryce Downing's breath is hot. On his ear. On his cheek. On his neck. His big, broad hands are warm through the Onceler's suit. "What's wrong? I just—I just wanna see you." His rumbling, deep voice sounds a little slurred. Bryce Downing isn't very sober.

The Onceler isn't very sober, either.

But he is sober enough to know that Bryce Downing is going to see, and if he sees, if he sees how weak and small and unimportant—if he sees how easy it would be to knock the Onceler down—

"Get—get off me! Get off me! Get away!"

He's screaming. He's screaming the words at Bryce Downing, tearing them from his throat and throwing them out in the air like knives, like weapons, and he's shaking his head so hard it hurts.

"Get away! Get away! Get away!"

Bryce Downing is going to see him.

Just like everyone saw him, back in the ballroom.

And the Onceler doesn't want to be seen.

He doesn't know when Bryce leaves.

But Bryce Downing leaves.

And he is alone.

He is alone, sobbing, on the bathroom floor, with his back pressed to the wall so hard, it's hurting his shoulder blades, and his silk suit jacket torn half-off his torso, and a rip running all down the arm of one glove, and his glasses knocked half-off his face and dangling from one ear, and he's—

God, he's sobbing, huge wracking sobs that shake his whole body, sniffles and hiccups ripping their disgusting, squelchy, wet-sounding way out of his open mouth, and tears pouring in a great river down his face, sticky damp trails all down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, and he tries to muffle it into his sleeve, tries to be quiet, tries because everyone will hear him, and he—

—he doesn't want to be heard.

It doesn't make sense. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it.

He wanted Bryce Downing to kiss him. To touch him. He wanted Bryce Downing.

He doesn't—he doesn't understand, he doesn't know, it doesn't make any sense, he wanted—

—to be kissed and touched and fucked when he is perfect, and polished, and entirely without flaws, after he has practiced all alone in his office and there's no room for mistakes, to be kissed and touched and fucked when he is big and powerful and strong, when he is too big to be knocked down—

He doesn't—he doesn't really know what he wants anymore.

(There, in the bathroom, in all the cold and echoing marble, he cries so hard he can't breathe, and he disappears. Into the window. Into the wall. Into the floor.

Into everything.

Into nothing.)

He picks himself back up. Off the bathroom floor. He dusts off his suit with one hand, and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs at his face until he can't see the tearstains—

(except he can, because he knows where to look)

—and he puts on his sell-a-thneed smile.

His mother was supposed to love him.

And she doesn't.

And she never did.

He was supposed to be kissed and touched and fucked by Bryce Downing.

And he wasn't.

Because—

—because I'm me, and what is there to love in someone who doesn't mean anything after all—

Well.

He puts on his sell-a-thneed smile, big and bright and beaming, and he pulls his glove over, so no one can see the rip, and he pulls his jacket back on, and he straightens his glasses, and he throws his shoulders back and he walks out of that bathroom with his head held high, and his chin doesn't tremble once.

The cameras are rolling, and the world is watching.

And he'd damn well better be ready to give them a show.

[darlingpetao3]

Rewrite the Stars (Harry Wells x Reader, Chapter 10 - Pretty Woman AU)

Rating: Mature

Summary: While on a business trip, Harrison “Harry” Wells has a chance meeting with the Reader on the streets of Star City. Both from two very different worlds, these two spend the week together under the form of a ‘business proposition,’ only to discover that their feelings are more than strictly professional. Based on the 1990 film Pretty Woman.

Warnings: Topic of Sex-Work, Sexual Content, Unwanted Physical Advances, Coarse Language, and Major Feels

Tag list: @thecaptainsgingersnap  @seabasstiantrash  @cavanaghcollins @obsessedadryana @technicallykawaiisoul @ill-breach-you-there-right-now  @drwellwellwells

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9

A/N: The song for this chapter is The Way You Look Tonight and can be found on our playlist here.

Ready for the most romantic date on earth??

~Him~

“Jack, I can’t talk right now,” I said hurriedly into the phone. “I’m leaving soon for my date. I can’t-”

“Date? Since when do you have a date, Harrison? That’s not like you! Is it with the hooker?”

“I’d be careful if I were you, Jack.”

“What? I’m just saying, no matter how bad the date goes, at least you’ll have a happy ending if you know what I mean-”

I hung up on the bastard, trying not to let my temper get the better of me. There was no way in hell I was going to let anyone or anything ruin tonight with (Y/N). It had to be perfect. She deserved perfect.

I was stood out in the main room of the penthouse, waiting for her to come out from behind the closed doors of the bedroom. I felt nervous, which was incredibly unlike me, and I took to pacing a small section of the room and fiddling with my white shirt collar every so often.

I checked my watch and knew that we would have to leave in fifteen minutes if we were going to make it on time, information which I shared with (Y/N).

“Good things come to those who wait,” she shouted back. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” I replied, but I went back to pacing anyway if just to occupy myself and keep my nerves at bay.

A few minutes later, (Y/N) emerged finally from the bedroom in the most sublime red dress that could probably make the world stand still.

Though mine already had.

“Pick up your jaw, hot stuff,” she said cheekily. “And my eyes are up here.”

“You look…” I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

She smiled, taking a few steps further towards me before kissing my cheek. She was the definition of beauty and sophistication. It took me a second to remember I had something for her. I grabbed the box on the desk behind me and held it in front of her.

“Now, this is only a loan, but I thought you might like to wear this for tonight,” I said, and opened the lid, presenting her with a glittering diamond and ruby necklace. (Y/N)’s eyes widened in amazement.

“I get to wear that?” she said, apprehensive to touch the jewelry piece.

“If you let me do the honours?” I removed the item with care from the box and stood behind her to place it around her neck. She looked in the mirror at it, her smile brighter than the necklace itself.

“Harrison… how did you- how much is this thing worth?”

“Quarter of a million.”

“Whaa-? Are you pulling my leg?” Her eyes had gone wide, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We made our way down to the lobby side by side, all the while passing hotel guests and staff whose heads turned as we walked by them. Although, this time, they were undeniably looking at (Y/N). But not with judgement.

I led her outside where I had a ride arranged to take us to the airfield. Where we were going wasn’t in Star City.

Once we were comfortably seated in the back of the car, (Y/N) excitedly turned to me.

“So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I said, trying not to smile at the way she looked so desperate to know. She practically bounced the whole way to our destination and tried to pry a few clues from me, but I remained tight-lipped.

I helped her step out of the limousine and onto the tarmac upon arrival. Her eyebrows shot up at that sight of my jet sitting there waiting for us. (Y/N) turned to me. “Harry, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

I grinned. “What gave you that impression?”

She shook her head at me and took my arm as I led her to our personal transportation to Central City for the evening.

~

“The Ballet?”

“Do you like it?” I asked as (Y/N) looked at the programme for Swan Lake I’d handed to her.

“I’ve always wanted to go…” she said, nodding. Believe it or not, I wasn’t aware of this fact. I only saw the event as a perfect opportunity for a night out.

I almost fell as I accompanied her up the velvety red stairs to our seats. It didn’t matter that (Y/N) wore the most expensive clothing and diamonds here. I sincerely believed she was more beautiful - inside and out - than anyone else in this room. I only had eyes for her.

We walked out onto the balcony to find our seats, and I turned to see if (Y/N) was alright but noticed she had stopped in her tracks. Her eyes studied the auditorium - the stage, the golden lights, the many people below us finding their seats.

“Are you coming, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

I knew that if this was her reaction to the venue alone, I couldn’t imagine how blown away she’d look during the performance. All I knew was that I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off her once the show started.

We reached our seats and (Y/N) folded her hands in her lap, looking down at the stage with a look of awe. I placed my hand over hers which at once drew her attention to me, and she laced our fingers together. I smiled softly as I rubbed little circles on her skin.

The lights went out a few minutes later and the show began. The dancing was flawless and captivating, but as I’d predicted, I found (Y/N)’s reactions to be even more so.

She became especially enchanted with the dances of the Prima Ballerina and her two roles during the third act and at the tragic end of the ballet, she squeezed my hand tightly, and I watched her brush away some tears with the side of her hand.

When the dancers came out to take their bows, she was one of the first people on their feet, clapping with such enthusiasm that I knew I didn’t have to ask whether she’d enjoyed it.

Retaking her hand, I led her out of the theatre, but she was gushing the whole way down to the car.

“Did you see how elegant they were, Harry? And being up on their toes like that, doesn’t it hurt? It’s incredible.”

“It really is,” I replied, helping her down the stairs so that she didn’t trip on her dress.

One older lady seemed to overhear her wonder-filled comments and asked whether she’d enjoyed the show, and (Y/N) replied with how thrilled she was to have seen it. She turned to me when the lady had moved on, and I could see on her face at how delighted she was not to be on the end of someone’s judgement like she had been this week. She could just talk about something she loved.

I led her outside into the still bustling street, even though it was relatively late.

“Where are we going now, Harry?” she asked as I opened the door for her.

“Somewhere special.”

We drove a little further away from the centre of the city before getting out again. (Y/N) looked a little confused for a moment, but then I gestured above to the circular building containing my life’s (and future) work. “(Y/N)... welcome to S.T.A.R. Labs.”

She studied every section of the Labs as we passed through the glass doors, marvelling at our displays in the lobby, and the history along the walls. I wanted to show her every little thing, but there was one place in particular I needed her to see.

We took the elevator up a few floors and I guided her in the direction of our journey’s end. The finale, if you will.

Unlocking the door in front of me with my retina scan, I took her hand and led her into the pitch black room. I felt her hand grip mine tighter.

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “Give it a second.”

I clicked a button on the fob in my pocket creating the first few twinkles appearing above us, followed by a few more, quickly growing in number until the entire room simulated a starry night. I heard her take in a breath.

“This is… It’s… I’m-”

For the first time since I’d known (Y/N), she was the one at a loss for words.

I clicked a different button on the fob and music began to play over the speaker system. I held out my hand. “Care to dance?”

I’d chosen the song before I’d seen her dressed up tonight, but now, the words to The Way You Look Tonight mirrored what I was feeling when I looked at her. She was bewitching, but I couldn’t put it into words myself.

She laughed softly, still smiling in wonder, but didn’t hesitate in taking my hand, and I brought her close to me. I placed my hand on the small of her back as hers went around me to hold my shoulder from behind. She rested her chin on my shoulder and leaned her head against mine softly, and we began to sway in the middle of the constellations shining around us.

Indeed the centre of our own little universe.

We stayed in each other’s hold for a minute, moving in time to the music, until I slid my hand to her waist and encouraged her to spin out and then back into my arms, just to watch her giggle. I did it again, but this time when she turned back, our faces ended up an inch apart from each other. Looking into my eyes, she blinked a few times, as though she was considering closing the gap, but then dipped her head and just rested herself against my chest again. She wound her arms around my middle and tucked her head under my chin.

I breathed in the scent of her hair in my inaudible sigh, and just wrapped my arms around her as the song came to an end. But (Y/N) didn’t move from where she was hugging me, so I didn’t either. Instead, I continued to sway on the spot, turning in a small circle so that she could see all of the stars around us.

“Tell me about them,” she said quietly, the noise muffled by my shirt, and truthfully I almost missed it.

“Hmm?”

“The stars. Tell me about them,” she repeated, pulling back a little to look at me again. I just smiled and nodded, taking her hand before helping her down to the floor with me, as gracefully as I could.

We lay down on our backs, fingers joined between us, gazing up at the domed ceiling and I started to talk about the constellations. I pointed them out to her, told her about the stories behind them and answered her questions, some of them genuinely surprising me at times.

“Not one of them is the same, is it?” she asked, looking over at me.

“No, they’re all unique,” I told her, meeting her eyes and giving her hand a soft squeeze.

I didn’t know how long we laid there, but I knew I could stay there with her forever. This evening had gone better than I ever could have hoped for.

And I also knew that I couldn’t hope to suppress my feelings for her anymore. I’d known she’d unlocked something the night we’d met, but now, as cliche as it sounded, I was willing to give her the key to my heart. I wanted to know what else she could make me feel just by spending time in her company.

She was making me a better man.

We could just make out a clock chiming eleven outside and decided that it was time to leave, however much neither of us wanted to. But we did need to get back to Star City after all.

I was afraid I would fall asleep on the way back to the hotel. I’d spent every minute of today planning and organizing this night for (Y/N) to go off without a hitch. I blinked my eyes to keep myself awake, but mostly for the sole purpose of revelling in her holding onto me in the back of the car as we left the airfield and made our way back towards uptown Star City.

I rested my cheek on the top of her head and brought our joined hands up to kiss the back of hers.

I had to tell her.